


Dust

by eamesish



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Organized Crime, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-10 15:03:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 23,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eamesish/pseuds/eamesish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake is an undercover cop working in drug lord Ra's al Ghul's cocaine operation. Though it seems relatively simple, if not dangerous, at first, he soon learns that there's more to Gotham's most notorious criminals than meets the eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [heroofthelostcause](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroOfTheLostCause/pseuds/HeroOfTheLostCause) for making me ship Blake/Bane, encouraging me to write a fic, and taking a look at this first chapter and pointing out the silly bits. :'D It's weirdly short for me, but I think this is one of those things where it's less a coherent timeline and more bits and pieces strung together until they make some weird version of sense. It'll become much more violent later, just a warning! Let me know what you think :')

No matter how he looks at it, the guy is just _massive._

_They call him Bane,_ he remembers Gordon saying, his mouth twisted in a subtle expression of disdain. _He’s smart and ruthless and, well, terrifying. Don’t get on his bad side._

Bane has lived up to his reputation. He’s this great, hulking thing, and though John can’t actually see his arms or chest through his sheepskin coat, he can practically  _feel_ the sinew and muscle radiating off the guy, rippling beneath his skin like a threat in and of itself.

Then, of course, there’s the mask. But everyone knows the story behind the mask.

John doesn’t dwell on that, though, because otherwise he might lose his nerve. Gordon had told him it would be dangerous, so what else had he expected? Nevermind the fact that he is waltzing into the den of one of the most notorious drug lords in Gotham, Ra’s al Ghul, a man of both dubious character and intention, whose right-hand man is this—whatever he is, a bear-human hybrid or something equally fear-inducing.

Were he not in front of said right-hand man at this very moment, he would have sighed. What has he gotten himself into?

“You’ve already been assigned your first job, Mister…” Bane starts, his eyebrows drawing together in a silent question. John’s heard his voice before, of course, but the civilized manner of it still surprises him anew with every word. He expects something dirty and nefarious, but instead gets a kind of distorted Englishman-type deal. It's somewhat unnerving, really, the tameness of it, and John almost _wants_ it to be terrifying so he can hate the guy just for that. As it is, he can only despise Bane based on stories and rumors, which just isn't satisfying.

Maybe it's wrong to want to hate someone like that, but he does anyway.

“Blake. Robin Blake.” The name burns on his tongue like acid, but he uses it all the same. He could have used a fake name, sure, but he feels his real name has some authenticity to it—a perusal into his background will reveal some scrawny orphanage kid with nowhere in particular to go, whereas a cover identity will seem inorganic. He has been studying Ra’s people for a long time **;**  with them, authenticity is far more than favorable, it is _mandatory._ One ounce of suspicion in his direction could mean death and, well, he isn’t looking to die anytime soon.

“Right, Mister Blake. I’ve heard you’re good with a gun.”

“I am, sir.” He doesn’t deserve such respect, but the ruse must be upheld.

“I trust you’ll confirm that this afternoon.” What little of Bane’s expression he can see is challenging. “Go and prepare. We’re meeting at the nearby gas station in an hour.” Pause. “Don’t be late.”

John nods sharply, removing himself from his chair and turning to leave.

“Oh, and Mister Blake?”

John looks back.

“Do yourself a favor and don’t disappoint me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where I start taking severe liberties with the canon, but I'd appreciate it if you set aside your fists for shaking until the whole thing's over. Like I said, this story will be told snippet-style so pretty please don't get mad at the length of each chapter. xD It just means I'll get each new part out faster, right?!

“It's going to be dangerous,” Gordon had said, his gaze falling hard upon Blake's face, as if scanning for some sign of fear—something, anything that could be pried at to discourage him from taking the job. John knew Gordon regretted offering him the job the moment he accepted, but by that time they were too far into the conversation for him to back out.

The plan was simple; he'd get in with Ra's al Ghul's men, show them he was valuable. Work his way up and make friends. It wasn't enough just to uncover the operation, for Ra's' game was a bit of a hydra: you cut one head off, two grow back just like it. He had to dig his claws into the whole thing so he could pull up all the roots, too. Why take out one when you could eradicate the lot of them at once, spray weed killer over the whole thing, and be done with it?

Part of the reason John had been considered for it in the first place was that past he had, that Robin, that boy with the lost eyes that never quite focused on the here and now and the anger ingrained so deep in his soul that he could never quite let it all out.

Robin was in there somewhere, somewhere deep down where John couldn't infect him, and he was _dying_ to get out.

John couldn't say he was eager to tear open old wounds, but he wanted to be of help to the force and if he could use his past to do that, he would. Part of him also held out some cruel shred of hope that maybe letting Robin do his thing would let the anger out once and for all, get rid of the person he could have been, the one some residual part of himself _still wanted to be_ , but that was bullshit. He couldn't just fix himself like that. He'd seen other men like himself and had known it for sure: he would never be fixed.

Then again, who said he needed fixing?

John Blake was never broken, never had been. John Blake was a man who picked a cause to believe in and believed the shit out of it, a brave and kind and fiery man who did his job even when nobody else would. He was an upstanding citizen of Gotham and, with any luck, a star member on the force--well, eventually. He knew who he was and had no doubts about his identity. He did not need to be _fixed._

He voiced none of these thoughts. John Blake, supercop, man of conviction, unbroken human being simply parted his slightly chapped lips and said, without a tremor or hesitation, “I'll do it.”

Thus the job was his. Whether Gordon liked it or not, he'd taken it and he'd run with it. A part of him was afraid he'd fail, perhaps, but he didn't dwell on that too much. Robin would remember the old days, remember what it was like before he had a life and something more real to cling to than an absentee masked crusader, and he would fall into something more comfortable than he'd like to admit.

_He's not your fucking alter-ego,_ he'd thought as he prepared to present himself to Ra's and whatever other audience was present.  It was go-time for this job and whatever doubts or beliefs he had about himself would just have to be cast aside. Robin wasn't anything special, never had been.

_He's just a tool. A tool for a job._

He wanted desperately to believe that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, many liberties are being taken. Hopefully said liberties add to the story rather than detract from it. Let me know what you think :')

“This man has been an opponent of ours for some time,” Bane starts, pacing in front of the group of men before him. “He fancies himself Ra's' superior, it seems, and we can't have that. We cannot have equality with him standing in our way.”

_How hypocritical,_ John thinks, his mouth twisting into a wry smile. He says nothing to that effect, though, only readjusts the AK in his hands, a bit uneasy at the prospect of killing anyone—even the scum of the earth they w ill undoubtedly face soon—but determined to keep up his ruse. If he has to kill someone, he will do it. Hell, if he doesn't, they'll end up face down in a ditch by someone else's doing instead.

“He's set up an operation that happens to fall within our jurisdiction, so I have been asked to kindly tell his men to vacate the premises. You are all here to help me do just that.” He pauses to clear his throat. “Do not shoot unless you're given the signal. With any luck, we can do this cleanly.”

The men around him murmur  syllables of assent and begin to shuffle in a half-line, half-mob after Bane, walking fast to keep up with his large strides. John squares his shoulders and keeps pace with them, feeling something flutter in his stomach when they reach a heavy-looking metal door, one presumably leading into a warehouse by the looks of it.

Now is the true test of his character—or of Robin's, at least. Now he must unfalteringly follow the word of a man he despises or face death.

Well, it could be worse...

Bane kicks open the door with a heavy blow and ambles inside, gesturing for the others to follow. It's a meth lab. Sheepish-looking men are scurrying around, trying and failing to come up with a plan regarding the very sudden invasion. A few have drawn guns, but as Ra's' men file in, himself included, they realize that they are hopelessly outnumbered.

“Gentlemen!” Bane exclaims heartily. “How nice to see you this evening. We were informed of your whereabouts by a scout who happened to be in the area. We don't appreciate this gesture, you know. This is not your territory to build upon as you see fit.” 

“W-We don't know what you're talking about,” one of the men squeaks, somehow brave enough to confront Bane.

“Oh, I _highly_ doubt that.”

“Sorry, sorry, that's my fault.” 

Everyone in the room seems equally surprised by the third voice. It seems to be coming from the intercom, so John isn't quite sure why he looks around for who it belongs to anyway. 

“See, I _meant_ to tell them, but I eventually decided that it really ought to be a surprise. I do like to leave my hardworking employees presents, after all. Nothing wrong with a little excitement in life, I think. Sure, they might not appreciate it now, but later when they're bored we'll all look back on this and laugh and maybe kill eachother a bit afterward.” 

_Who_ is  _that?_ John wonders, horrified by his words.

As it turns out, he doesn't have long to wait  to find out.

The owner of the voice—or so he presumes—emerges from the far side of the warehouse, a dirty-looking guy with stringy hair and something  colorful  caked all over his face. He seems familiar somehow, but John can't remember why. He doesn't have time to evaluate it, though, because he and the other men around him all grow more aggressive and hold up their guns higher, clearly ready to shoot the intruder.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he says in response, waggling a finger. “I wouldn't do that if I were you.” From his coat he produces a small box with a little red button on it. “One wrong move and this whole place could blow.”

Bane visibly tenses.

“I see you've decided to show your face,” he says, his voice surprisingly controlled given the situation.

That's when John recognizes him. The stringy green hair, the white, black, and red makeup, the suit... the man is another of Gotham's notorious criminals, the Joker.

_I'm just pulling up the roots,_ he reminds himself as he looks at the man.  The more of the network he can uncover, the better. He just has to hold out.

“I have, I have,” The Joker says, interrupting John's thought. He licks his lips feverishly as he walks toward the group, rubbing his hands together in some sick form of delight. “Not sure why, really. Thought it might be a bit of fun, perhaps.”

“This isn't quite my idea of fun, I'm afraid. You do realize that we're here to persuade you to leave?”

“Oh, don't worry. I don't particularly need persuading.”

Bane looks confused. It's understandable—John's confused, too. If he didn't need persuading, why did he show up?

Bane asks as much.

“Well, you see, I've been kind of bored lately, and truthfully, I just wanted to see something blow up!”

As John looks on, the Joker's thumb presses down on the button.

The world suddenly falls out from under his feet. His lungs fill with smoke as he hits the wall, his ears ringing from the giant explosion. He barely registers the Joker's receding back when the gunshots start on both sides, neither party seeming to care about the raging fire that has suddenly emerged around them. John takes a moment to get the world to stop spinning before preparing his gun, shooting around to make it look like he's trying just as hard as everyone else.

He's doing a damn good job at it when he's forced to actually shoot someone: one of Joker's men was going for Bane so John found himself with no choice. Bane couldn't die, not yet, and while anything his assailant could throw at him was most likely baby stuff, he doesn't want to take his chances.

As the man falls to the side, Bane shoots him a look. He can't tell if it's grateful or annoyed, but he doesn't really want to know.

Surprisingly, the whole thing is over in minutes. John and the others get out of the smoky building as fast as they can, leaving behind only a pile of bodies and the remains of a meth lab.

Mission success?

“We'll see him again,” Bane says, dusting himself off. “He has a penchant for chaos that cannot be quelled. He'll be back for more.” 

John knows enough about the Joker to know he's right.

“For now, though, let's not dwell on that. Are we all present?”

Only one man has gone down.

“Excellent. We shall make our way back to Ra's', then, and deliver the news. Trust that you will be handsomely rewarded for your actions.” 

John can't tell which part he dislikes more: being rewarded by a criminal or  the possibilities of what the reward could be. He's not sure he wants to find out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is screwing with my mind. I have all these tidbits written, but they're all out of order. xD I have chapter six but not five written already and there's one I can't even _begin_ to know where to put yet. Well, whatever. It goes where it goes. I hope you like it :')

The reward, as it turns out, is dinner.

Alright,  _dinner_ is putting it lightly. It's a big fat feast  and there must be dozens of people milling around him. Boy, for a man who wants equality, it sure looks like Ra's is being put up on a pedestal. Bane is less isolated, but  he still meanders only between the people he deems worth his time, and John is not one of those people.  Sure, the food isn't all fancy and “look I'm richer than you,” but still. The hypocrisy fills the air like poison and John wants to gag.

Instead he drowns himself in liquor, feeling the criminality of it all settle on him like dust. He feels dirty, used: he just  _killed_ a man for a criminal. He aimed his gun and shot it and someone died. Where had his mind been? It scares him to think that he was capable of such a thing just because a job called for it. Sure, he 's a cop and those sorts of things are bound to happen eventually, but it had been so  _thoughtless._

_Get a grip,_ he thinks, downing a flute of champagne he is fairly sure will not get him anywhere on his quest to find a drunken stupor, but too all-over-the-place to care about it properly. 

“Save a little for the rest of us, would you?”

The humor of her tone makes him look  up . She's slender, but not too slender; her eyes have a fire to them he hasn't seen in a while. He feels like he should know her, but as of now he's drawing a blank.

“Oh, uh—sorry,” he says sheepishly, scooting away from the bar a little.

“Don't be. This is a celebration, Mister—I'm sorry, I don't think I know your name.”

“Blake. Robin Blake. It's a pleasure.” He sticks out his hand and she takes it delicately, giving it a barely noticeable shake before releasing it again. 

“Are you new?”

John looks at his feet. “Very.”

“I can tell. Never killed a man before, had you?” 

Is he that easy to read? “No.” 

She tosses her head back and lets out a laugh, a tinkling, melodious sound.

“Don't worry. You get used to it. Just remember that it's for a good cause.” John wants to pick that sentence apart in his mind viciously, but decides against it when she begins to walk away.

“Wait! What's your name?” he asks, not sure if it's his place to know but eager to find out anyway. 

“Talia. Talia al Ghul,” she replies carelessly, looking over her shoulder to toss him a wink.

It feels like an insult.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one just crept up on me. xD

“Why did you miss?”

John nearly shits himself. He's half-drunk, half-stupid and full of food and completely  _not_ expecting Bane to be standing in a dark corner as he leaves the banquet hall.

“Um, excuse me?”

Wow, he's really on a roll with the articulation tonight.

“You told me you are good with a gun, yet you missed the Joker's men several times. It was almost... deliberate.”

John's heart is pounding in his chest as Bane draws near. He wants to back away but stays rooted to the spot, mostly concentrated on trying to get the world to stop spinning and keeping the contents of his bowels contained in said bowels. It takes only a few steps before  Bane's right up in his face, his eyes hard and cold and intensely trained on John's own.

“Fear isn't welcome here, Mister Blake. You'd best get over it soon or you won't be, either. Do what you're told next time, if you please. I'll be watching.”

And then it's over. Done, just like that. Bane's gone and John's left with nothing but a pile of jumbled nerves and the fear of God—well, of _something,_ anyway—most thoroughly instilled in him.

Though he has just drunk obscene amounts, he thinks perhaps he's not quite smashed enough.


	6. Chapter 6

The days pass and the jobs pile up. John falls into a routine, he finds, and it becomes easier to blend in with the others. He's still naught but a maggot in the eyes of his “superiors,” but he knows that will change with time. He just has to stand resilient and keep acting like the goon they want him to be. 

His personal life, however, is another story.  Playing Robin,  even for the short time he has so far, brings back a lot of things he doesn't want to face,  things before he became John but after he became Angry Orphan Kid; things with spines and needles and thorns, things that draw blood as they rake across his mind and laugh as he stands quivering.

Though he tries to block them out, the memories come rushing back.

Not all his foster parents were good, friendly, loving people like they were supposed to be.  Sure, they smiled in front of him, but he knew what they were thinking—it wasn't for love that they were taking him in, but for money, or for the chance to “reform” him. There was something glamorous, it seemed, to taking in some broken kid and making him happy and gleeful, like his happiness was a badge or a certificate they could hang up on the wall in the living room to fluff up their egos when they were feeling like the assholes they actually were.

Boy, it must have felt real  _fucking_ good when he started faking it, when he learned to hide the fire and the anger and act like everything was a-okay. That last foster home got the badge and he got nothing but an extended stay in an orphanage and a place amongst kids with dead dreams and nonexistent hopes.

His hopes hadn't been killed at the orphanage. They were dead on arrival.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ay yay yay, sorry for the delay. I got caught up in marathon-writing [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/471073/chapters/815019) TDKR/Inception crossover--10k in two days, woo!--and then I spent most of today relaxing and recovering. I will continue to update, though, so don't fret :')

He  saves Bane's ass twice. Well,  by a normal person's standards, anyway. His not being there would've meant a gunshot in the shoulder or the leg, both of which would have done nothing to the bearlike man, really, but it still counts for something.  Bane begins noticing him after that second time, keeping an eye on him, and once when they're at yet another banquet Bane actually says something to him.

“Thank you, Mister Blake,” he says, his eyes scanning over the crowd. He eats nothing, of course, because of his mask, but he doesn't seem to mind it—he probably did once, but rumor has it that the mask has been on for years, so he must be used to it by now.

John quickly downs the drink in his hand. “For what?”

“For not disappointing me.”

That's it. There's no conversation, no discussion, just that one pure phrase, and it's over.

John sighs. This is going to be harder than he thought.

Even so, he finds himself gaining respect for the people around him. He knows it's wrong, that they're the scum of the Earth, but he can't help it. Sure, what they're doing is illegal, but they're making a _living._ The underlings are, anyway. They're not there for Ra's' grand scheme to purify humanity and spread equality. They just need the money.

Horrifyingly enough, John even makes a friend.

His name is Victor and he's a grunt, just like John is—was. He's a nice guy, really, not cruel like the others, and he's really just trying to keep his family afloat. Violence, it seems, is the only way he knows how, and John can't blame him for that. John likes talking to him because he's grounded, he's real, and he reminds him that there's a life beyond the drug business for each and every one of them. He makes sure John still has his reservations about killing Ra's' enemies, though he doesn't know it.

Nonetheless, John can't help but feel this tiny sense of camaraderie growing as he busts into different joints time after time, can't stop himself from watching the backs of the men at his side intensely, Bane included.

He's starting to get comfortable.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, you guys are way too nice to me. I've stopped replying to every comment, as I'm afraid they're stacking up a bit, but trust that I am reading and appreciating each and every one. :') Unfortunately I'm going out of town tomorrow night until Wednesday morning-ish, but if I don't update before I leave tomorrow, trust I will right after I come back!

Bane asks him to do something solo.

Well, not _technically_ solo—it's a two-man thing, Bane and himself, but it's far different from his earlier experiences. Instead of being a grunt, he's a little bit important. It's not much, really, but it's _something,_ and something is what John needs.

Truthfully, he's afraid of what will happen if he lets himself get too used to it all.

“We're going to complete a transaction,” Bane says as he paces back and forth behind a desk that looks far too small for him. “However, because this man is of a very suspicious sort, we are required to be only two in number: myself and another man to carry the goods. That man is you.”

“Why?” The question sounds dumb in the serious silence of it all, but John's curiosity is too great to care.

“Because your aim is good, Mr. Blake.” He pauses for a moment, as if lost in thought. “And because I see something great in you that I don't want to slip through my fingers.”

Well, John just doesn't know what to say to that.

So he says nothing. The two prepare themselves and then they go, Bane looking intimidating and John looking, well, diminutive. He has to. If he looks too tough or capable, the man they are dealing with will bolt.

“Have you met him before?” Bane asks as they get out of the SUV, heading toward a small, broken-down looking house.

“No.”

Bane laughs as if it were ridiculous for him to ask in the first place. Which, admittedly, it kind of was. Even when John was a cop—which he still is, of course—he rarely met any of Gotham's more notorious characters. It was always the little guys he brought in, the carjackers and the purse-snatchers, not men like _this._ If he's honest with himself, he's a bit excited about the whole thing. He's dancing with the devil and there's something oh-so exhilarating about it, something he simply can't ignore.

“Good. The shock is always best the first time.”

John wants to wonder at what that means, but he doesn't have the time.

The room they enter is dark and smells of piss and alcohol. It's probably been used for the homeless before, but John has no time to truly ponder that because there's a man sitting at a table in front of them. Their client, presumably.

“Have you got it?” The voice is nervous and jittery, like he's expecting someone to ambush him at any time.

Bane gestures to the duffel bag in John's hand, which he shakes a little. Their mystery client stands up then, presumably to look at the goods, and steps into the light.

John can see what Bane was talking about. The man is thin and just as shaky as he sounds, but it's his _skin_ that's the shocker. It's... it's completely mutilated, absolutely covered in lines, and after a moment he begins to suspect they're tally marks.

That's when it hits him.

 _Victor Zsasz,_ his mind screams, recalling a conversation he had with a fellow officer.

“The guy's crazy,” he'd said with a grimace. “Carves a tally in his skin for every victim he kills. Only problem is, he's clever, too. They keep catchin' him, he keeps gettin' out. Real dark shit.”

John had just nodded at the time, but he is grateful for the information now. At least he knows  _something_ about the guy.

“Good. Hand it here,” Zsasz says, stepping toward Bane and John. Bane shakes his head.

“Money first, Mr. Zsasz, you know that. It's a lot easier to make off with a roll of bills than a bag of cocaine.”

Zsasz laughs hollowly. “Ah, but you see, sir, I'm afraid I wasn't actually intending to pay you.”

With that, he lunges at Bane.

John jumps back, hesitant to shoot the man for fear he is an important client to Ra's, but finds himself hesitant to shoot for another reason: the cold press of a gun's muzzle to the back of his head.

Bane's about to punch Zsasz in the face when he speaks.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” he cautions, and the click of a gun stops Bane. John curses himself for not noticing the mystery gunman before, dropping the bag and putting his hands up. 

“I'll just take this and be going, then.”

 _Fuck,_ he thinks. He can't afford to botch this—he'll never earn the trust of anyone if he does. He has to come up with a plan, some way to turn the tables of Zsasz so they get the money they were promised. If only he could take the gunman out of the eq uation...

When the man reaches down to pick up the duffel bag, John has it.

Taking a deep breath, he bends his knees quickly and, before the man can react, turns to swipe the gun away. Grabbing the man's gun hand in a firm grip, he brings his left hand up, which now has his own pistol in it, and whacks it across the man's temple hard, knocking him out.

Well that was easier than he'd expected it to be.

Kicking the gun away from the now-unconscious man, he turns back to find Bane grappling with Zsasz. Though Bane is ridiculously strong, Zsasz is somewhat of a gymnast, and as such manages to get out of the way every time Bane tries to crush some body part or other.

John, seeing no better alternatives, fires a shot at the wall. It distracts Zsasz for only a nanosecond, but it's long enough for Bane to get a real hold on him, kneeing him in the stomach and restraining him before he can struggle away.

Slamming his fist into Zsasz's ribs, Bane waits until the pain sets in and proceeds to search him for the money they're owed.

“If you're going to betray us, Mr. Zsasz,” he says as he withdraws a wad of cash from Zsasz's person, “you should at least commit to it.” Then, gesturing for John to leave the bag where it is, they exit. 

“Why didn't you shoot him?” Bane asks as they get back into the SUV, looking at John. 

“I thought he might be useful later.” Oh god, he sounds so much like a criminal.

Bane just laughs.

“Good decision.”


	9. Chapter 9

Robin left the orphanage at sixteen.

He figured “hey, I ain't getting any younger,” packed all his stuff up, and walked out, leaving everything he knew (which really wasn't much) behind to take on the world. Though he was confident he could make it somehow, it didn't really work out.

See, he fell in with the wrong people. He didn't really realize it at the time, but the people he met weren't exactly model citizens, and they corrupted him subtly as he did odd jobs for whoever would take him. He eventually figured it out, of course, but by then it was too late.

Robin became a criminal.

It was then that he learned to use a gun, to fire it when needed. He learned of the Gotham's scum, of exactly how deep corruption ran in its veins, and though he never got into any big-time crime rings, he was already pretty well indoctrinated to how it all worked.

He didn't actually mean to fall out of the crime circuit, to become a cop. There were no nagging doubts or guilt trips before one specific, isolated incident—one that changed it all.

Said incident centered around a little girl, around seven, sitting next to her injured papa as he bled to death. Robin had been horrified; his gun was still smoking from the shot. The little girl looked up at him and searched his eyes as if to say _why have you done this to me?_

That was when he realized it: he'd created another angry kid, just like him.

The shame and guilt he'd felt—perhaps delayed, but finally present—made him snap out of it. He realized that he'd gone so, so wrong, and thus went in the polar opposite direction, saving people instead of endangering them. Not just for himself did he fight against crime, but for the sake of the angry orphans just waiting to be created. Nobody deserved his fate, and that was what drove him.

So it was that John Blake, Gotham's own hotheaded beat cop, left behind the path of darkness for one of light. He remembers the dark days, of course, but generally ignores them, pushes them aside, pretends they never happened, because there's really no other way for him to live.

He likes lie to himself and say he'd never killed anyone before that incident with the Joker, but that isn't true. _John_ might never have killed anyone, but Robin...

Robin had a whole fucking list.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooooooooo! Managed to get in one more chapter before I leave! :') Things are gonna start accelerating, guys. You better be ready.

John becomes Bane's favorite.  
  
He doesn't mean to, really, it just _happens._ He doesn't think Bane notices it happening, either, but the man is somewhat of an enigma in general so John doesn't think too much into it. Instead he thinks about how he's that much closer; how he's creeping up on success with this job; that with each step he takes towards importance, he's that much closer to the day when he can end it all and go back to doing what he normally does.  
  
He just ignores the part of him that's starting to dread that day.  
  
This time, John is included in the discussion of the next job—to which Talia raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. The group is of about twelve people, including Ra's, Bane, and Talia, and himself, as well as some rough-looking men and women he doesn't recognize. He has a feeling he's unwelcome, but it's clear that they don't like change. John is change and thus represents something bad. Well, they'll get used to it.  
  
The man they're meeting with is someone Ra's is familiar, it seems, for he talks about the client like an old acquaintance, someone he once knew but now can only guess about.  
  
“He is a sharp and cautious man,” Ra's says, “so make sure you don't say or do anything suspicious. He is less paranoid than he is prone to... over-analyzation. Do not allow this meeting to go awry.”  
  
“We will not fail,” Bane says respectfully, but John can hear the animosity creeping into his tone. Bane doesn't like Ra's, that much is clear. That's what confuses him: why would Bane work for a man he can't stand? He has a feeling there is a lot to be said on the matter, but those stories are not for his ears. Not yet, anyway.  
  
“Good. Now go prepare. What he has to offer is very useful to us and may just turn the tides of our little war.”  
  
As they file out of the room, he meets Bane's eyes. There's not exactly trust there, certainly not, but there's... there's _something_ about it that suggests John is doing his job successfully, that he's worming his way in.  
  
Though he can't help but feel a little surge of pride for his ruse at that, there's some part of him that is waiting for the moment when this all starts going horribly, horribly wrong.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote about 5k of this story while in the car, so it's all waiting on my laptop. I love you guys so much that I actually sat and typed this from my laptop onto the computer manually because my grandmother doesn't have a flash drive and doesn't know the password for her wifi so I can use it. u__u I'm going to try and type up the other chapters for you, but they're starting to get lengthier so I can't promise anything. Anyway, enjoy! Please forgive any typos etc :')

John is, as is becoming usual, beside Bane when they walk toward the church. It's an old, broken down place, unused for years, and the broken stained glass windows on all sides of the place are haunting somehow. Their client resides inside, it's said, because he seems to find it useful for his own reasons. Well, John isn't about to question that.

"Say nothing unless instructed," Bane says, his voice gruff, as they approach the massive wooden doors of the building. The company nods, John included, and he can't help but frown at the way they're treating the client. What's so bad about him that they treat him with such caution? If anything, the Joker seems the most immediately threatening--he craves chaos like others crave sex or money, thus making him unpredictable.

The light streaming through the broken windows makes it difficult to make out what's inside the church, but as his eyes adjust a large pile of what looks like desks on the far room come into focus, upon which stack is seated a man whose face John can't quite see.

"Ah, Bane! Good to see you," the man says, and he sounds personable enough. Of course, John doesn't trust first impressions anymore.

"Crane," Bane replies. It's not much, but apparently it'll do, because the man stands up from his seat atop the pile and doesn't look particularly angry.

 _Jonathan Crane._ A man of nightmare, John was told. Though he thought himself a psychiatrist, in truth he was just as much a lunatic as the people he was trying to "help" with his vision-inducing drugs and that fucked up mask. He can understand Ra's careful words now. Dr. Crane is a man to fear, certainly, and if treated improperly he could be sent off on a rampage with the righteous judment he seemed to think himself in possession of.

John doesn't trust him one bit. The high-ceilinged, labyrinthine church is the perfect place to be up to no good, and if there's anyone whose motives he should suspect, it's Dr. Crane. While the other criminals were all out for themselves, Crane had some awful delusion that he could _fix_ people, and that made him more dangerous than the others, who can really only offer a punch to the face.

"It's good to see you. I trust you have my goods?" Crane asks, tapping his fingers ogether, a gesture John can only barely see from his vantage point on the floor.

"If you have mine, yes."

Crane pauses for a moment, as if deep in thought. "Well I do, but frankly, I'm not sure if honoring our agreement is in my best interests."

That's when John notices it.

He's looking at one of the men who ring the sides of the church when he sees the flash of plastic as it switches between hands.

_A gas mask._

Something sinks in John's stomach as he looks up at the ceiling, fearing he'll see what he's expecting to see. Sure enough, two cleverly hidden men are waiting on the scaffolding high above the ground, each holding a bag whose contents he does not have to guess at.

 _"Bane!"_ he yells in warning, but by then it's too late. Dr. Crane's gavel slams down on the desk and, like clockwork, dozens of masks go on as a fine white powder rains from the sky.

"Crane, you'll regret this!" Bane roars as the men around him start to double over. He stands longer than the rest of them, John included, but soon he's gone too, his eyes clouded with some fear John cannot begin to guess at. John feels the effects creeping in too, hovering into the edge of his vision, making everything blur and spin sickeningly.

And then the fear sets in.

He can hear the others screaming as he, too, loses control, writhing on the ground as the church twists and turns, becoming the unspeakable. Even he isn't sure quite sure what he's afraid of, but all he knows is that he's _scared_ and everything's _spinning_ and he just wants it to _stop._

"You see, the problem I have with people like you," Crane says through his mask as the remains of the dust rain down on the floor, "is that you all think you're so in charge of everything all the time. You're bullies. You push others around and you think it'll do you good. That's a problem, I'm afraid. One that needs to be _fixed."_

John can just barely see the men swarming around them and picking up the goods through the haze, intent on leaving them powerless, it seems. 

 _Alright, just think about this,_ John thinks, fighting off the urge to claw at his face. _It's a drug. It's a drug. It's a_ fucking _drug._ It's not enough to clear his mind more than a little bit, but when one of the men stoops down to pick up the case John had been carrying, he's able to whack the man on the side of the head with his pistol. It's clumsy, but just enough for him to slip the gas mask off the man's face and press it to his own desperately. For a moment he just gasps, his lungs frantically seeking untainted air, but when he feels hands scrabbling against his torso he's forced to focus on the matter at hand.

Kicking the man sharply in the ribs, he struggles to his feet and faces the man nearest to him, noting Bane's ongoing struggle to rise in the process.

 _The mask must not help,_ he thinks. How inconvenient. _Or perhaps it's because his eyes are exposed._ Now that he thinks about it, the gas masks all have eye coverings. That's probably what's getting Bane and why he's able to resist the drug somewhat--he's getting the effects, just not fully.

John's hopelessly outnumbered, unfortunately, but he puts up a good fight, his energy going up a little when he sees Bane finally stand upright too. The other men are still down for the count, but the two of them are enough to hold the guards off for a minute while the dust clears.

It's too late. Crane's men are forcing them out of the building now, carrying some men and fighting the ones who are slowly coming to their senses, like John and Bane. They're left humiliated and defeated outside the church, and as John removes his stolen mask, he can only think one thing: _Ra's is going to be furious._


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, you guys need to stop. You inspired me to labor away at copying another chapter over. Hold on to your hats, ladies and gents, 'cause the adventure starts here! I might copy over chapter 13 tonight too, but it's five pages long so it depends on how much I love you. :'P

The problem with criminals is that they never truly have a fixed plan. The police are easy for Gotham's scum to outsmart because they're too rigid, too formulaic, and thus easily predictable. So while Bane or the Joker or Dr. Crane may look absolutely terrifying and completely unbeatable when pitted up against the cops, it's only because they're so spontaneous, so daring, so ruthless, that they can trump the organization and predictability of the police every time.

When pitted up against other criminals, John quickly learns, the playing field is far more even.

Though it feels to him that Bane and Ra's are losing over and over, in truth it is just the life of the criminals that populate the city. The Joker temporarily trumped Bane, but Bane will get him back. Bane will crush him and then the Joker will retaliate. It's a vicious cycle, one of one-ups and trump cards that simply can't be won.

Their loss against Dr. Crane, however, is clearly a serious one, as Bane and John are made to report to Ra's as soon as they return to the headquarters.

"What happened?" Ra's asks, an unfamiliar edge creeping into his normally calm voice.

"We were taken by surprise."

Ra's looks like he wants to slap his palm to his forehead, but restrains himself.

"For that kind of glaring error, I should hope so. Crane clearly took you off guard, but the problem is not his brilliance--it is your _stupidity._ Tell me, Bane, were there not any _signs_ foreshadowing this event? I am quite certain this sort of thing is foreseeable and I don't understand how you missed it."

John bites his tongue. Ra's is, of course, right--it's hard to hide gas masks seamlessly--but he doesn't want to betray Bane.

 _How weird is that?_ he thinks, mentally shaking his head at himself. Is he really trying to protect the guy now?

The knowledge John is holding back must show in his eyes, though, because Ra's zeroes in on him sharply.

"And you, Mr. Blake? Did you notice anything?"

"Th--" He stops himself, feeling Bane's muscles tighten beside him. He can't betray bane, because while Ra's is technically the man he works for, it's clear who is a more valuable companion when it comes to surviving in the underworld.

"What was that?" Ra's needles, getting in John's face. John can actually feel his breath on his skin, menacing and unpleasant. He's not sure how breath by itself can be angry, but Ra's' definitely is. "It is not wise to lie to me, Mr. Blake. I am sure you are aware of that."

So John relents. What else is he supposed to do?

"They had gas masks. I saw one before it happened. There were men visible on the scaffolding, too. I tried to warn Bane, but--"

"That's enough." John feels the weight of his betrayal hanging in the air and immediately knows Bane is very, very angry with him. "Bane, this man has only been with us for a month and he immediately noticed something you missed. Care to explain that to me?"

"It was a lapse in judgment."

"Yes, yes, Bane, thank you for clarifying that. I was questioning exactly how much you failed me, how many _thousands_ of dollars I lost because of a _lapse in judment,_ and that just cleared it all up. Thank you for that, Bane. Thank you so very, very much."

"Sir--"

The word sounds strange leaving Bane's mouth.

"Bane, you are going to make this up to me. I don't know how or with what, but you had better hope you do or you will find yourself in a very, very bad spot with me."

"I will earn your respect again," Bane growls as he gets up, casting John a look. It is filled with vehemence and disgust, and John knows it signifies the end of their fledgling good relationship.

When Bane is gone, Ra's sighs and looks at John.

"Thank you, Robin," he says, the name taking John aback. "You may go."

John bows his head and leaves without another word.

He has a feeling life is about to get a whole lot worse.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, the comments on this story just make my day, every single one. I can't stop smiling. So yeah, here, have this. I would torture you all for a while, but you've made me like you too much!

John avoids Bane at all costs.

They have to work together, of course, but what little banter they had made--what very, very little--is now gone, forgotten for the sake of business. Bane is thinking, John can tell, but about what he can only guess. Perhaps about how to right things with Ra's. Perhaps about wringing John's neck. He truly isn't sure.

When he returns to his small apartment a few days after the incident, he realizes he's been holding his breath all day and finally releases it. Now he can relax, if only somewhat. Now there are no pretenses to uphold. 

There's this tiny part of him that's starting to wonder if the life he usually leads is the true pretense, but he doesn't think about it too much. If he gives in and follows that train of thought, he doesn't think he'll like what he finds.

He's opening a beer when he hears a knock at the door.

Furrowing his brow, he sets the beer on the counter and heads toward the noise. There's no peephole, unfortunately, and a peek through the curtains hanging over the window yields no results.

Cursing under his breath, he opens the door slowly and prepares to dodge any shots.

_Bane._

"Bane," John confirms, opening the door a little wider. Though his voice is even, inside he's yelling profanities at himself. He forgot that Robin Blake's past would undoubtedly reveal his apartment--it was bought under Robin, not John. It's no surprise Bane has found him, though his motives are, as of yet, unclear.

"Mr. Blake," Bane replies, his eyes scanning what little he can see of John's apartment. "May I come in?"

John's mind says no but his lips say yes, and he moves to the side to allow Bane entry into the room. All the muscles in his body are taut as he watches Bane step in, feeling the invasion of his home in his bones.

"Uh, what do you need?" His voice sounds shakier than he would like. Closing the door, he turns to Bane and tries not to twiddle his thumbs, piss himself, or both.

"You humiliated me, Mr. Blake," Bane begins, facing away from John.

His stomach sinks. So _that_ is what this is about.

"I was--"

"There's no need for excuses here. They will not save you."

Bane whips around and slams John against the door, his eyes full of fire. John's throat feels like it's closing as he tries to speak, but is unable to find the words.

"I'm afraid you do not know your place. Well, Mr. Blake, fret no more, for I have taken it upon myself to teach it to you."

John's eyes widen as he feels Bane's hand slide along his thigh. Is this--is this what he thinks this is? Is Bane really going to go this far?

It seems so, for Bane leans in as his hands slide beneath John's shirt and along his torso, his gloves rough and scratch against John's bare skin. "I'm disappointed in you, _Robin."_

What is it with everyone using his first name all of a sudden?

He doesn't voice that thought, though, only laughs shakily, feeling decidedly uncomfortable about the warmth below his stomach.

"Oh, and do you rape everyone who disappoints you, then?" he replies, his tone biting.

"They've never dared to."

It is, admittedly, a good answer.

"Well, I'll make sure to warn them of your peculiar affections next time you--ah!--decide to teach someone their place, then." Bane has hoisted him up against the door and is now doing some pretty obscene things with his hips, his eyes trained on John's face as if he wants to catch his every reaction to what is going on.

And his reaction is, well, not exactly what he'd like it to be.

Truth be told, Bane is pretty fucking attractive, albeit in a vaguely-terrifying-but-still-sexy way. That doesn't change the fact that he apparently decided that he has no moral qualms with sexually violating a subordinate, but it does change how John feels about it. Because, in truth, flaccid is the farthest thing from what he is right now.

He's started to make this really terrible keening sound when Bane pulls away, grabbing John by the arm and leading him toward the hallway. John still has enough sense left in him to struggle, but he knows he couldn't break Bane's grip even if he really wanted to.

"Where's your bedroom?"

"And what if I don't tell you?" John quips, the extent to which his jaw is clenched audible in his voice. Bane slamshim against the wall--tossing him around is the thing to do today, it seems--and gets right in his face, his eyes wild.

"Then I'll dry fuck you against the wall, Mr. Blake, and I don't think you want that."

John laughs shakily.

"Oh, so we're back on a last-name basis again?" His shoulder blade grinds into the wall painfully. "Second door on the left."

Bane pushes John ahead of him and, upon seeing the unmade bed, half-tosses, half-lays John on top of it, climbing up over him and removing his vest with gusto. John tries very, very hard not to work away at his own clothes as Bane's hips press down on him--because, well, cops don't fuck criminals willingly. There's got to be a rule against that somewhere, right? It's just wrong on principle.

At some points amidst all the "stop"s and "fuck you"s his shirt has come off and Bane's now-bare hands are around his hips, working away at his pants, his calloused fingers surprisingly careful. John's arm flails weakly for the drawer beside his bed. He withdraws a tube Bane clearly knows well, because he takes it immediately and ucaps it.

John can't help but bite his lip at what's coming next, the gesture one part horror, two parts anticipation.

Bane's fingers very suddenly go somewhere they shouldn't and John gasps, his fingers scrabbling against Bane's chest, trying to find purchase so they can either push him away or pull him closer, he doesn't know. He can feel the heat in his cheeks and tries to fight it, but it's a losing battle, and somewhere between his throat and his lips the "no" has turned into a _yes_ and Bane knows he's won John over, for better of for worse.

For worse, probably, but John isn't too inclined to ponder such things at the moment.

He makes eye contact with Bane and sees something unfamiliar there, not hatred, but something else, and he wonders what it's like to have one's mouth covered up all the time like he does. Not that John laments it, but it must be upsetting to have a partner whose lips you cannot kiss. Bane suddenly seems human, somehow, during one of the most inhuman acts a person can commit, and John can't prevent the tiny flare of sympathy that goes off in his chest.

Bane seems annoyed that John has become distracted, though, and withdraws his fingers, making John cringe.

"Please." John lets the word slip before he can stop it.

"Please what?" Bane says, the triumph evident in his voice.

He won't let Bane win, though, not truly. If he's going to lie to himself, the lie might as well be convincing to others, too.

So he reaches down to grasp himself instead, but Bane's grip stop him.

"That's cheating," Bane says, staring John down. "Now I ask you again, please _what?"_

John clenches his teeth as his hands are pinned over his head. It's no use fighting it anymore, but he is stubborn and he will not give up or give in to the man who is _raping_ him, for crying out loud.

He's about to just sit there and give up when he has a better idea: though he's unable to stop another awful moan from escaping his lips, he's focused enough to lift his pelvis up to connect with Bane's and create some friction he's sure Bane is regretting. Sure enough, Bane's eyes close momentarily and John can see his muscles twitching.

When he's finally got the best of his captor, he expects Bane to flip him on his back, but is surprised when he doesn't.

"I want to see your face," Bane says, his tone a mixture of poison and some misplaced tenderness, making John laugh once, a sharp, loaded syllable.

Leaning up as far as he can in his awkward position--which really isn't much--he says naught but one thing:

"I hope you enjoy ever second of it."

If he could see Bane's mouth, he's sure it would be smirking.

"I will."

And then John _really_ falls apart.

It is less Bane's girth than it is the fact that he's fucking masterful at what he's doing, like rape (well, it's not really rape by now, but the name is charming when applied to the goliath leaning over him) is a fine art he has practiced for many years. John's legs have wrapped themselves around Bane at some point and his hands, now free, are clutching his arms for dear life. He's unable to speak, unable to think, unable to _breathe_ ; perhaps the most intelligent thing he does is to move with Bane, to press himself to his captor and let the sweat build up between them, to enjoy the uncertain and shallow breathing he elicits from Bane that he's never heard before, because _fuck_ the man is beautiful in bed. He has a fucking mask on and yet there's something ethereal about it all, something completely unreal, and goddammit John is _enjoying_ this.

_It's rape, it's rape,_ he keeps reminding himself, but somewhere along the line he knows they started looking more like lovers than enemies.

"Jesus, I--" John gasps, ever the articulate one. Perhaps the most irritating part of this is that Bane actually managed to keep his composure somewhat, although his breathing is laborious and lustful. At least he hasn't turned into the volatile mess John has become.

"I know," Bane replies, like he's been there before. John wonders with whom, but his thoughts are forgotten when Bane pulls out almost all the way and, deciding it'd be nice to pay a visit to his stomach lining, rocks back in as far as he can go, pressing himself against John and eliciting the most unearthly sounds from the man beneath him.

"Can you," John says, like it's a full sentence. Bane replies with something that probably answers it but he's not really thinking about that, he's not thinking about _anything_ , he's just tearing his fingernails down Bane's arms and praying he holds on long enough to synchronize with his captor.

"Wait."

Something akin to a whine erupts from John's throat.

"Wait for me."

It's not a request, but a demand, and John can do nothing but oblige. He waits and he waits and he waits and Bane lets out a growl and John loves it, he fucking _loves_ it, and fucking christ why did he spend so much of his time pretending he didn't want to fuck Bane in the first place? It was a stupid decision, a horrible decision, and John will _not_ be making such gaffes in the future--

_Oh._

Bane has touched something vulnerable inside him and he cries out, and Bane leans down and in his ear he whispers "now," and christ, John doesn't wait to be told twice. The walls of the apartment are thin--how he remembers this at such a time he doesn't know--so he reaches up and, right where he knows the vest will cover it, bites down on Bane's shoulder, and only when he thinks he's not going to fucking scream does he let the world explode around him. It's beautiful and ugly and completely terrifying, but there they are, muscles taut and skin slick with sweat and come, Bane's voice husky beside his ear as they come down together.

And it's over.

John lets his grip on Bane's shoulder go and looks at the newly-forming hickey and thinks _mine, all mine,_ and he knows he shouldn't be thinking that, but he does it anyway because he's already done about ten other things he said he wouldn't do in the span of the last hour or so. Bane slowly removes himself and sits up, quelling his breathing quietly.

"Do you always rape so gently?" John asks, breathless, unable to care about the consequences of such a question.

"It depends on the subject's willingness to cooperate," Bane replies evenly, looking John in the eye.

That's when it hits him.

That sentence doesn't mean what he thinks it does at first: Bane isn't saying that he's raped others, that they've kicked and they've screamed. He's saying that he's won. He's reduced John to a sniveling, gasping mess, made him a _subordinate._ He's taught John his place, exerted his power _without John even noticing he was doing it._

Because that's how a true leader does it--not the rape part, but the part about being in power without making you aware of it. A true leader is the leader before you realize you've elected him to be; he already has the power before you notice he's taken it, because after that point he can stomp on you all he wants.

Bane clearly sees this revelation in John's expression, because he gets up and starts dressing himself. John is speechless.

"Well played," he finally says, sitting up and trying not to think about the hell his backside will later be experiencing or the fact that he would very much like another go.

Bane buckles his vest and, looking at John with a bizarre pseudo-twinkle in his eyes, says the single most brilliant and insulting thing he has ever heard in his life:

"I have no idea what you're talking about."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup! Sorry for the delay. Things are a bit nuts for me right now and they will be for a while, so updates will undoubtedly be slower. I'll keep 'em coming, though, don't fret! I won't leave you hanging forever :'P Thanks for all the supportive comments, guys. You're all terrific!

John was robbed of his innocence early in life, so  being kind-of raped by Bane is no travesty. Perhaps the most severe of the sins done unto him occurred when his father was murdered over a gambling debt so many years ago. It's a dull ache now, but it still burns far worse than the memory of Bane's touch.

He remembers the shot very clearly—Robin or no Robin, he's always remembered it. Even John, innocent, do-gooder John, remembers it, though he likes to pretend otherwise.

It was loud and it left his ears ringing. He was probably scared, but that's faded from memory now. Mostly he just remembers the screaming, the way blood bloomed over his father's breast pocket like some bloody carnation. John's—Robin's—handprints pressed against the wound and stamped a whole bouquet of carnations all over as they tangled themselves up in his father's shirt, pressed against his face, tried to stop the bleeding, something.

There had been a man in the doorway. Though his face had been blurred, he remembered the laugh, remembered his own desperate, furious scream: “You'll pay for this!” 

He hadn't paid, as it happened. Little Orphan Robin had paid, definitely, but the man got away scot-free. All Robin had to remember him by was a blood corpse and a few mental scars. 

His father had not been a good man—certainly not quite deserving of Robin's lifelong anger—but he had raised his son, cared for him. That had to count for something, right?

It was, perhaps, the beginning of it all, that shot. Who would John be if his father was still alive? Well, he'd be Robin, for one. Never John, just Robin, good old Robin.

Maybe his innocence would have been robbed just the same. His father was, after all, a criminal. Perhaps Robin would have been left dead in a gutter like his father undoubtedly was, another nameless cronie who hadn't had a future anyway.

Does that mean his current path, this one of crime—which is a sham, he keeps reminding himself—was inevitable? He'd always end up the villain, no matter what he did? Of all the infinite paths he could have taken as a boy, he'd forever end up on one of darkness?

He's starting to think he was meant for this all along.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this wasn't supposed to exceed 10k. Now look where I am xD It's looking more like 20k with the current pace, but obviously my powers of estimation aren't that great, so we'll just have to see what happens!

He just can't stop  _thinking_ about it.

He's torn between being angry about the whole thing and wanting to get Bane in a corner and relive  the experience . It's all very, very frustrating, and to top it off he can feel the smugness  _radiating_ off the man, taunting him, reminding him of his defeat.

Despite the hiccup in their working relationship, however, they're starting to understand eachother better in the field and become almost unstoppable. It's undeniable that they're a good team, no matter how much John resents that—or wants to, at least—and things have never looked better for his sham of a career.

He and Bane don't talk, partly because they don't really need to and partly because they just _can't._ There's this terrible rift between them and everyone knows it's there, but nobody will mention it, not even Talia. John knows he should be terrified because he was, well, raped (the “sort of” is implied at this point) by the man, but instead he's just angry at the way Bane is toying with him.

In the next few days, they only speak to eachother once. Three days after the incident, they're alone in Ra's' office poring over some notes on the Joker's operation when Bane gets up, casting John an unreadable look as he goes to leave.

“Is it still there?” John blurts out, unable to stop himself.

Bane turns.

“Is what still there?”

John eyes Bane's shoulder as if he could see through the vest covering it, at that purplish-red bruise he knows must still be there.

“You know what.”

Bane seems like he wants to laugh, but restrains himself.

“Barely,” is all he says, making to leave the office.

The sound of the door shutting feels like a punch to the gut.


	16. Chapter 16

If there's anything positive that comes out of the whole situation, it's that he becomes much closer to Talia. He's not sure how it happens, but he's quickly made aware that she's the kind who latches on and won't let go until you're completely devoted to her, so he goes with it.

_It'll help with the job,_ he keeps reminding himself, trying hard not to forget his true purpose among the comfort and routine he's slowly settled into with Ra's and his men. As it happens, he genuinely likes Talia, but the part of himself that's still fighting the life he's now living—the very, very small part—won't let him forget that he's trying to use her, that it's all just a means to an end.

He's starting to feel kind of guilty about that.

“My father may begin consulting with you directly soon,” Talia says languidly one day, her eyes focused on the beautiful garden beyond the veranda in which they now sit. They'd been having lunch together upon her request, something expensive and of the sea, and are now at her house on the small island her father owns (what he considers “equality” keeps getting more and more ambiguous), enjoying the breeze and the faint scent of salt that tinges the air.

“Soon, too,” she continues, interrupting John's thoughts.

His eyebrows shoot downward.

“How do you know?”

“He told me.”

She gives him a sidelong glance as she sips wine from the glass in her hand, her expression hard to read.

“I guess that's a good thing.”

A laugh. 

“You have no idea. Frankly, Robin,” she says, putting her glass on the table and standing up, “we no longer know what we'd do without you.”

And with that she's gone, the remnants of her lunch the only evidence she was there.

_Robin,_ he thinks, turning the word over in his head.  _Maybe that name isn't so bad after all._


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told myself I was going to bed and instead wrote another chapter. Whoops!

The change from Robin to John had been hard to make.

His foster parents and the orphanage had always called him Robin, so the name haunted him long after his father's death. In fact, he even kept the name when he left. It wasn't until he decided to change, to become an upstanding citizen, that he switched to his middle name.

New persona, new name, right?

It was weird, calling himself “John.” Mentally he still referred to himself as Robin, so every time his new name left someone's lips it threw him for a loop. He had to remind himself that he was new, he was improved, and thus the name change was necessary. Robin carried too much baggage for the occasion, so he had to leave it behind.

Well, it was difficult, but he managed. Slowly Robin faded from his mind, became a memory, and John took over. The new man he told himself he'd be was no longer a dream, but a reality, and with the death of his criminal ways came the memorial service for the man he once was. Robin no longer existed.

… Or so he thought.

Now John finds himself in a sort of twilight, like the one he'd experienced when he first made the transition. Everyone calls him Robin now—well, those who can get away with calling him anything other than Mr. Blake—and he sometimes catches his own thoughts referring to himself as Robin, too.

 _What's happening to me?_ He keeps thinking, but it's a stupid question. He knows exactly what's happening to himself, he just doesn't want to face it. 

Robin never died, not really. He was simply buried, trapped under layers and layers of bullshit until he could no longer scream for recognition, for a second chance at life, and eventually forgotten. Those days, however, are long gone. Robin is back with a vengeance and John knows it, and he can't help but wonder if Robin shouldn't be given another go at things. After all, the transition is halfway complete.

What's the point in fighting it, anyway?


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. My laptop broke and I lost a lot of works-in-progress so I was kind of annoyed and just worked on new stuff from my dinosaur of a PC for a bit, but last night my laptop managed to hobble along long enough for me to email a bunch of stuff to myself, part of this chapter included. I may be between computers soon so if I vanish, fret not! I will undoubtedly be back eventually; technological matters are just difficult at the moment.

Robin— _John,_ some tiny voice deep inside his brain says, but by now that's a lost cause—has his first meeting with Ra's a week after Talia mentioned the possibility to him. It's weird and uncomfortable and he can't help but feel guilty about the whole thing, like he's betraying Bane personally with his actions. Not to mention that he's not quite used to being important yet, to being someone the al Ghuls truly rely on. Here he is, an imposter, and he's making his way up the ladder with laughable ease. He wonders how long it took Bane to reach his status with Ra's and Talia.

 _God,_ why is he so obsessed with Bane? No matter what he's doing, his thoughts seem to wander back to the man under the guise of something or other. He can't help it. Part of him, the John part, is disgusted by Bane, repulsed, but the other part is obscenely attracted to him. There's this thoughtfulness to Bane's actions that he's noticed over time, some sort of hidden brilliance, and he can't help but want to know more.

What does that mean, now that he's Robin in almost all aspects of his life? Does that mean he no longer hates Bane? Does that mean the life he's grown to love and appreciate—one that he, perhaps, missed for years—is now okay to live? He's confused and he's frustrated and he's angry and none of it makes sense and he just wishes he could return to normal, but he doesn't even know what normal is anymore.

 _Just focus on the job,_ he thinks, but he's not referring to being undercover. He's referring to taking the Joker down once and for all. This is about as close as he's come to spearheading one of Ra's projects himself—Bane is in charge, technically, but a lot of the strategy of it was left up to him. Generally “once and for all” means “for a little bit” to Gotham's finest, he's found, but he's hoping that with enough work he'll be able to do some actual damage. Hell, he's doing the police more of a favor than they bargained for.

As he prepares to head out with Bane toward the meeting spot, he feels nervousness flare up in his stomach. What if he's all wrong? What if it all goes horribly? He'll never had Ra's trust again. Ra's is taking a chance on him, so if that chance is thrown away, there will be no others. Not to mention the fact that Bane is probably rooting for him to fail. That begs one question: which is greater, his loyalty to Ra's or himself?

Only time will tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A question: in reading fic, do you prefer long or short chapters? I have a fic I'm working on that I can either release in one 15k chapter, or I can do it in little chapterlets like I'm doing this one in. Some people have said they become more emotionally invested when chapters are shorter and they follow a story over time, but some prefer to read a story all in one go, so I'm curious as to what ya'll think.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, I'm always so excited to update this because I know ya'll are waiting for it. Your comments make me so happy, seriously. Also, thanks for all the feedback on the long/short chapter thing! Seeing as I have another short-chapter going on right now, I'll probably do the one in question in one long chapter. Again, thanks! It's awesome that you guys are so responsive. You complete me. xD

Robin is angry.

It's not the usual buzz he feels in the back of his mind basically all the time, oh no. He's _furious,_ blindingly, searingly furious, and he doesn't know what to do about it.

The mission regarding the Joker was a success, of course—Robin has this wonderful kind of foresight that eliminates many of the sorts of problems Bane runs into—but it's not that that's bothering him. It's Bane himself that has him angry now.

It was all going fucking fantastically until Bane decided to be a total asswipe. Alright, the asswipe thing has been in development ever since that night in the apartment, but still. This takes the cake. Robin had been shooting away at a man (he'd gotten over his qualms over killing at this point; he'd had no choice in the matter, really) when Bane had charged into the fray, barreling into Robin and knocking him over. It seemed like an accident, yes, but he'd seen the look in Bane's eyes when he turned back to observe his handiwork: the twinkle in his eye was purposeful and victorious. There had been no accident.

The whole thing had ended in a broken rib and several missed opportunities. Now, side still smarting but, luckily, numbed with adrenaline, Robin is stalking through the halls of Ra's headquarters, looking for Bane.

He finds him, alright.

Bane's walking through one of the more remote hallways in the building when Robin practically runs into him, his expression morphing from shock to rage in no time.

“You _asshole!”_ he yells right in Bane's face, his own red with raw emotion. He doesn't normally let his anger show so plainly, but he is so _done_ with this, done with their petty game, done with the childishness, done with hating Bane and wanting him at the same time.

“You need to straighten whatever the fuck is going on with you out before you get someone killed,” he continues icily, holding his side when his heavy breathing makes his cracked rib sting. Oh boy, when the adrenaline wears off, it's going to be a lot of fun. “It's over. You have nothing left to pro—”

He's interrupted by Bane slamming him against the wall, his large hand pressing against Robin's collarbone crushingly. One knee touches the wall between Robin's legs and he can feel Bane's hip pressing against his thigh, grinding in painfully. Bane doesn't intend it to be arousing (probably), but it most definitely is.

For one long moment Robin just stares at Bane, his eyes boring into the other man's skull, but then Bane's leaning forward and he can hear the quiet rasp of his breath through the mask, can barely detect his lips parting, and he shivers.

“I thought you were going to be compliant,” he says, fucking _purrs_ ever word, such is his delight and Robin's fury.

“That was before you threw away your loyalty for a personal vendetta,” Robin spits back, refusing to back down.

Bane pauses then, pulls back and watches Robin like he's some lab experiment.

“You should keep your mouth shut, Mr. Blake. Wouldn't want to say anything you'll regret.”

That gives Robin pause, if only for a moment. Almost involuntarily, his hands snake up Bane's chest, grab the vest, and pull him dangerously close. From his lips fall two words, each dripping with a venom he's rarely used before:

“Make me.”

He's not sure what he means by that, and it seems Bane isn't sure either, because for a moment something dangerous flickers through his eyes and Robin thinks—hopes?—he's about to relive the night in his apartment. They're impossibly close now, his leg rubbing between both of Bane's, and to say the twin bulges between them are unnoticeable would be the funniest joke he's heard in weeks.

Robin can hear every breath leave his mouth, deafeningly loud in the quiet space. Bane scrutinizes him for a long, long second, and then a sharp knuckle slams into his broken rib, sending him sputtering and choking. Bane lets go and leaves him to crumple in on himself, to try desperately to stop the pain, and looks smug.

“It's not your loyalty to Ra's with which I concern myself,” he says as he turns, walking away slowly, “but your loyalty to me.”

And then he's gone. Just like that, Robin's alone, with just the pain in his side and the warmth in his groin to keep him company. He puzzles over the confrontation for a moment, thinking furiously, until he gets it.

A slow smile dawns over his face like sunshine.

_Bane's jealous._

The thought is at once delightful and horrifying. But that line, that line about Ra's... Robin feels like there's something bigger at play here, but he's not sure what it is yet, nor is he sure if he wants to find out.

Well, whatever it is, he has a feeling Bane is going to want to talk about it if Robin plays the right hand—he did, after all, hint about it just now, so he must be willing to share _something._ If Robin could only get close enough to find out what...

_Bane,_ he says to himself as he straightens up, the pain in his side ebbing, albeit only a fraction,  _I solemnly swear that I will fuck you again._

Hey, it's all part of the job, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Calling John Robin after so many chapters is totally weird, lol. I keep typing "John" and then changing it. Anyway, sorry for glossing over the whole Joker ordeal, but this scene was plastered all over my mind and I had to get it outta me. Plus, I figured you deserve a reward for putting up with me for so long.
> 
> Things are going to start accelerating soon! I was in a bit of a rut after 13, because that was a "checkpoint" of sorts and between that checkpoint and the next I wasn't sure exactly what I was gonna do, but it's coming together beautifully. Hang onto your hats, ladies and gents. This is gonna be exciting ;)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooooo, 20 chapters! Thanks for sticking with it :')

_Progressing ever forward,_ Robin thinks wryly as he walks away from Bane after a particularly heated exchange. Operation: Seduction is underway—wow, has he seriously named it that?—and though each step is minuscule and seems insignificant, it's something, at least.

The whole thing is mind-bendingly tricky. Robin had certainly wooed someone to get information out of them before, but Bane is different. They hate eachother in a very special sort of way, the kind that ends in a lot of sexual tension and more than a little anger on both sides. So, on the plus side, Robin actually wants to fuck the guy, but conversely he can't go through the normal motions to do it, which is a huge setback.

Whether Bane will actually open up in any capacity is anyone's guess. The man is cautious, guarded, and he no longer trusts Robin the way he had started to before the Crane fiasco. All Robin knows is that he needs to get close to Bane again, and if he gets a few good lays out of it, well, that's hardly the worst thing that can happen to him.

So he works away at Bane, slowly but steadily, all the while plotting his next move. He has to be careful, because if Bane suspects his actions are inorganic, it's all over—he'll withdraw and Robin will be left with a big fat pile of questions and used tissues. No, he must plot carefully, let each loaded glance cut Bane with surgical precision, make it seem like it's all subconscious, all completely unplanned, though in truth Robin is bending over backwards about the whole thing.

The days stretch on and he and Bane have many a heated moment, each one full of all these little milliseconds when his eyes are narrowed, his lips parted, and Bane seems like he's going to finally  _do_ something about it, but then he doesn't and Robin's alone again, no better than he was before.

Thus he comes to one conclusion: it's too slow. He has to do something to push Bane over the edge, to get him to snap the way he did in Robin's apartment—he has to get Bane  _angry._

He remembers how he felt that night, how used, how stupid, and he almost smiles. The tables have turned, for it is now Bane who will be toyed with. And here's the best part, the real kicker: he won't even know it's happening.

As he heads back to his apartment, he can't help but be in better spirits. He has a plan, and he has a feeling things are going to change dramatically when he executes it.

_You're playing my game now._


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Promise I haven't abandoned this--I've just gotten back into school and everything, so life's a bit crazy :') It's my birthday today, though (seventeen, wooooo!), and I always write fic for myself on my birthday, so I thought it fitting to update.
> 
> That said, I'm very out of my element here, so this probably isn't exactly what you're expecting. All scenes of this kind of mine have a purpose in a story, and this one was written for a purpose and with motivations that were unfamiliar to me, so I really had to wing it. I hope it's to your standards, but if it isn't, I promise the next chapters will be better. xD Hey, practice makes perfect, right?
> 
> Anyway, yes. Here it is. Enjoy!

The next day is when he strikes.  
  
They've got some cleanup to do, what with the Joker having been plucked from his empire so unceremoniously and left on the side of the road to be taken to Blackwater, and it is when they're approaching one of his meth labs that Robin sees his window of opportunity.  
  
“Cleanup,” he finds, actually means shooting up everyone who has the audacity to still be in the vicinity. Can't have one of the underdogs taking over while the boss is out, right? It reminds Robin eerily of his present situation, but he tries not to think about that.  
  
His moment comes when he and Bane are side by side, weaving in and out of flaming pieces of wood (the affinity for explosives is, apparently, a shared trait between the psychopath and his men). Bane's about to shoot someone when Robin gets to the guy first, doing the same thing to his next target, and then he pushes past Bane roughly to get a better angle on the whole situation.  
  
That should do it. Robin has found, in his limited experience, that few things upset Bane more than his power being usurped. Bane may preach about equality, sure, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to be better than everyone else. That much was clear when Robin had pointed out his screw-up in front of Ra's: he was being undermined, so he fixed the problem. With any luck, this time would be  
no different in terms of his reaction. This time, however, Robin is prepared.  
  
Bane's grip on the steering wheel is white-knuckled as they head back to headquarters. Robin tries to hide his smugness at it all and mostly succeeds, though he's pretty sure he isn't radiating the fear Bane is expecting. Good; that will make him more determined to reassert his dominance.  
  
When he steps out of the car, he heads toward his own vehicle like he normally would, but has to feign surprise when Bane stops him.  
  
“I'd like to see you in my office, if you have a moment.” It's phrased as an invitation but meant as a threat.  
  
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Robin replies, changing his course for the building. To Bane's credit, he manages to reign in how mad he is, but when the office door closes Robin knows it's all over. The scene that's yet to come hangs heavily in the air, he can almost taste it, and he can already feel victory rising in his chest.  
  
Bane's office is ridiculous. It's a pretty respectable room, sure, but Bane is a massive man—his presence fills any space he's in, and the office really isn't that large. It's almost comical, the way Bane looms over him in a room that's much too small, but he still feels a tiny thrill of fear when Bane speaks.  
  
“What was that?” Bane asks simply, his voice even.  
  
“What was what?”  
  
He laughs.  
  
“I'm not in the mood for these games,” he says, rolling his shoulders in their sockets. He'd taken a stance a few feet away from Robin, but now he draws closer, each step loaded with the promise of violence if Robin makes a wrong move.  
  
“You know what I think? I think you were _trying_ to make me angry, Mr. Blake.”

Well, it's the truth.

“And what if I was?” Robin's voice is small, but defiant. He can feel the sweat starting to trickle down the back of his neck as Bane draws closer, pinning him against the wall.

_Deja-vu,_ he thinks wryly, but can think no more when Bane's face is directly in his own.

“Then I'd tell you that that is a _very_ bad plan,” he replies, fucking _purrs_ the words, and Robin's stomach flips over.

Regardless of the legitimate fear he's experiencing now, however, he presses on, refusing to back down. He needs to show that he must be crushed; if he backs down now, Bane may think he doesn't need much more than a stern talking-to. That is _not_ what he wants. The only way to find out what's going on between Ra's and Bane is to get very close to him, and the only avenue he sees is through sex.

… Alright, so that's sort of a lie—he can think of at least three other ways to find the information he's looking for—but he feels better about wanting to jump Bane when he has the excuse of business. Pretending he's not willingly lusting after a villain he's trying to put away makes him feel like he's still actually a police officer, somewhere deep inside.

“Doesn't seem so bad to me,” he finally says, swallowing hard to calm his nerves.

“Why's that?” Bane's tone is deceptively light, but Robin knows better than to think he's cooled down at all. He can feel the tense energy radiating off of Bane, Bane's massive musculature enabling him to box Robin in quite effectively, surrounding him by it.

“I just don't see what I should be so afraid of.”

Bane chuckles.

“And here I was thinking we'd been over this. Does your memory need refreshing?”

“Don't tell me that was the real thing, before.”

Another laugh.

“Oh no, Mr. Blake. That was—a _demonstration._ A mere taste. I could destroy you if you wanted to, and would do so happily.”

And Robin, perhaps out of a desire for death or a particularly feisty streak of disobedience, leans forward, parts his lips, and says the two words he know will seal his fate:

“ _Show me.”_

Bane slams him against the wall, his breath hot and furious through his mask. Robin laughs shakily as he feels Bane's hands slide up beneath his shirt, the pads of his fingers calloused and rough over the smooth skin there.

“I didn't think you were one for formalities,” Robin quips before he can stop himself. He knows it's dangerous but he's addicted to the rush of speaking against Bane, of angering him, and he can't help but want to make him _furious,_ let his words dig deep beneath Bane's skin and reemerge in the form of boiling fury. Besides, it's not like Bane will _actually_ kill him.

Well, he _probably_ won't, anyway.

That's the good thing about being an asset to Bane: Bane doesn't have to like him, but he has to keep him around because he's too useful not to. Of course, Robin suspects Bane is somewhat fond of him anyway, in his own twisted and villainous way, and that just helps ensure that he'll live through this experience.

Bane has pressed himself to Robin now. He radiates heat like a furnace, his skin electric with the potential of what he could do, and when he lifts Robin up off the ground and presses their groins together, Robin feels that potential coursing through his own veins, too.

“I thought it polite to give you a bit of warning,” Bane finally says when Robin's wrapped his legs around Bane's hips, and Robin can hear him loosening his belt buckle.

“Polite? I didn't think disobedience called for politeness.”

Bane snorts with amusement, his breath too quick for a proper laugh like before.

“Perhaps you're right.” With that, he jerks his pants open and works away at Robin's quickly, pulling them down without ceremony when Robin releases his hold on Bane's hips, only to renew it when he's bare. Robin's heart thumps in his chest as Bane presses their torsos together again, so Robin's mouth is nearly touching Bane's mask.

“What if I did it right here, mm? No preparation, no formality—since you seem to dislike it so much. What would you say to that?”

Fear courses wildly through Robin's veins. No preparation? Bare and without ceremony, fucking against the wall like animals—it's primal and disgusting and definitely would have been a terrifying prospect a few weeks ago, but now... he knows it will be painful, but he can't back down, not now.

“I'd tell you to go for it,” is what he says, the words barbed with the challenge behind them. He grits his teeth, knowing he'll be unable to walk properly for a week, and steels himself for what happens next.

Bane laughs, low and deep and rumbling, and presses himself to Robin harder so he can remove one hand, presumably to ready himself. He feels Bane's fingers brush along the curve of his ass and gasps, something twisting in his stomach. Leaning closer, he wraps his arms around Bane's neck and meets his eyes, his gaze hard and flinty. It signifies his resolve: he will not be made a fool of, like he was last time. He will not lose control. He will remain level-headed and clear-minded, and that is why he will win.

Of course, it's easier said than done, because when Bane starts to prepare him he feels the muscles in his legs tense. It's foreign and weird and so, so _dry,_ and he can't stop his mouth from falling open a little bit with the strained breath he takes, but he doesn't break eye contact. That is the one thing he cannot do.

Bane chuckles and adds a second finger to his barrage, then a third when enough time elapses. Robin can't help but writhe at the sensation, at once wanting to make it _stop_ but desperate to feel how he felt the last time.

“What are you waiting for?” he asks breathlessly, his voice audibly shaking as he tries to keep his composure. Something flashes in Bane's eyes and suddenly the fingers are gone, leaving him burning and empty, and he sucks in a breath.

Bane leans in so his mask is nearly touching Robin's mouth, holding that position for what seems like an eternity. Robin has to actually force himself to relax because he's not particularly looking to lose all muscle function, and when Bane feels this relaxation, he takes a deep breath and he pushes.

Robin does _not_ fall apart. There's this strangled sound in his throat, a scream just barely choked off, and his fingers slide down Bane's back and dig in viciously, but he does not lose control. For a moment all he can hear is his heart wildly beating and the ragged breath between them, but then Bane moves and the world seems to explode.

His fingernails drag upward through Bane's skin, tearing it, and he can feel something wet pooling beneath them when he stops them in their tracks in favor of concentrating on one spot. Bane's eyebrows shoot down, but he doesn't stop, nor does Robin stop looking at him. It hurts like nothing he's ever felt before and Bane's hand is digging into his side where _oh, yeah, he broke a rib,_ and he can't breathe properly and he's pretty sure the pitiful whimper coursing through his brain is actually sounding from his vocal chords, but he doesn't break eye contact. His eyes begin to tear up from keeping them open for so long, but he doesn't blink. He is a wall, unshakable. He is Bane's equal.

After a while, it gets easier. Robin's chest is heaving with the force with which he seeks control, but as they find a rhythm and Bane grows closer to his limit it becomes a much smoother process. Robin's fingers continue to dig in and the action grounds him, makes it easier to avoid the throbbing pain he feels, and after a while it's almost pleasant. One of Bane's hands snakes between them to grasp Robin and move him along and a quick stroke causes Robin to buck against him, unable to help it. It's become almost a game now—who can hold out the longest? Who will give in first?—and Robin is not the latter, so despite the pain he feels, he rolls his hips wickedly, causing Bane's eyes to cloud over. Bane's hand moves faster, though, and Robin can feel this heat in his stomach that foreshadows his release, and for a moment he think he _will_ lose their little competition.

His mouth opens and he's about to cry out, just mere moments from giving in to his desire, when the tables suddenly turn and Bane climaxes, messy and impromptu, and Robin finds he's hardly prepared for the sensation of it. Bane's hand goes jerky and Robin reaches his limit, too, and something inhuman rips from his throat, a sound unlike any he has made before. His breath stutters for a moment and he's pretty sure he actually sees stars—and then he's breathing normally again, his gaze still fixed on Bane's eyes, his fingernails only releasing their grip on his skin when he feels Bane start to move away. Suddenly he feels empty again, the pain he'd felt before coming back with a vengeance, and as his feet make contact with the ground he finds his knees are shaking. He can barely stand upright, but he does, straightening himself up with some effort. His own seed has plastered his shirt obscenely, evidence of their crime, and he laughs shakily.

“I have a hypothesis about you too, Bane,” he says when his voice has grown steady again, pulling up his discarded pants and grimacing when he notices that his fingernails are tinged with blood.

“And what might that be?”

“I think you're afraid.”

Bane's still close, and at this he draws closer again, his hands working at the belt buckle of the pants he'd just pulled up.

“Speak carefully, Mr. Blake.”

Robin's fingers curl around the strap of Bane's vest and he pulls Bane forward, releasing it and brushing along the skin of his shoulder when, the move seemingly thoughtless.

“I think you're afraid that you're not good enough. I think you're afraid that I can be better.” It's bold, bolder than he's used to being, but he's working towards a goal—and when he commits himself to a goal, he'll do whatever he has to to fulfill it. Funny, how something that used to be so integral to his career as a policeman is so useful now.

“Am I?”

“Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.”

Bane chuckles and turns, and Robin is surprised to see tiny rivulets of blood running down his broad back. Did he _really_ do that?

“You presume too much,” is all he replies, and Robin almost laughs when Bane finally notices the newly dirtied state of his vest. Clearly they did not think this through because they're both completely disheveled and now must walk through the entirety of Ra's headquarters to return to their respective abodes, thus displaying their actions to all who might pass by.

_Good thing I brought a change of clothes,_ he thinks smugly, eying the bag he'd carried into the office with supplies from the job. Thank god for foresight.

He changes right there, pulling the clothes out of his bag and stripping down without a thought. He can feel Bane's eyes boring into him and soaks up the attention, knowing that he has achieved exactly what he wanted: equality. That doesn't mean he can let his guard down, of course—fucking and getting information are two very different things that can only be synced with effort—but he's starting in the right direction.

Without so much as a goodbye he leaves Bane's office, his entire body tingling with the memory of what had happened only a few minutes before. It hurts to walk, sure, but it's worth it. It's so, so worth it.

As he drives home, his mind buzzes with possibilities. What will Bane do next?

Only time will tell.


	22. Chapter 22

It happens again.

And again.

And again.

Robin had intended for this to happen, but not so—so _well,_ not so completely that every day is spent waiting for the second when he and Bane might be alone, not so entirely that Bane has become the blood pumping through his veins. He finds, rather startlingly, that Bane is someone he enjoys being around. Though generally their fucks are quick and without speech or ceremony, every once in a while he'll stay, or Bane will, and they'll talk matters of business that probably mean more than they want them to mean.

It becomes comfortable. Robin suspects that he could live like this forever, actually, and hopes he does. In fact, he almost forgets what he's meant to be doing in the first place.

That is, until Gordon shows up at his apartment one foggy morning.

Robin's supposed to be going to a meeting, but instead he's stuck staring gape-mouthed at a man he'd nearly forgotten about.

“Don't look so happy to see me,” Gordon says gruffly, shouldering past Robin into the apartment.

“I—sorry, I just wasn't expecting a visit.”

“Apparently not.” Gordon turns to him, and Robin can see the question in his eyes before it leaves his mouth. “We stopped getting updates from you, Blake. What's going on?”

Robin swallows hard. What does he say? That he nearly forgot he was in the police force? That he's not really undercover anymore? That he's _become_ what he was previously just pretending to be?

“I got in a bit deep,” is what his mouth says for him. “It'd be risky, calling you. I'm close to Ra's and his men now. Irreplaceable. I can't blow all that in the name of protocol.”

Gordon looks like he wanted to say something, but bites back the words, probably remembering Robin's fierce dislike for all the rules and regulations the police pride themselves on.

“I understand. It's just—given your history, I thought I ought to check up on you. I don't want you getting too caught up in this.”

_You have no idea,_ Robin thinks, but again his mouth lies for him.

“I'm fine. I haven't seen a good opening yet, but when I do, you'll be the first to know. I promise.”

Gordon looks contemplative for a moment, but he nods.

“Good. I look forward to hearing from you again.” He makes for the door, casting one last glance at Robin as he leaves.

“You will,” Robin replies, but it sounds more like he's reassuring himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news: I wrote about half of the next chapter at school today, too. Only a few chapters left, guys!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sick again (what is it with my immune system lately?!) so I thought I'd update for ya'll. I'm a bit loopy at the moment, so bear with me. xD I'm staying home tomorrow so hopefully I'll be able to update again. The end is in view, guys; I can almost taste it!

The whole thing with Gordon leaves him decidedly disconcerted, so he decides that the only way to distract himself is to get fucked senseless by one of the men he's supposedly conspiring to bring down.

Bane is stretched out lazily on a divan when Robin finds him. Neither of them says anything, Robin just descends upon Bane like a wild animal, tracing the scabs on that broad, powerful back from the last time he tore holes in it. They never quite get a chance to heal, he's found, and he likes it that way. They're his mark on Bane, his claim, the assertion that this hulk of a man is _his_ and his alone.

They've moved to Bane's bed now, Bane having carried him over at some point. Robin towers above him, a leg on either side of Bane's torso, hair framed by the light above like he's some angel. With a small murmur he clutches at the hand Bane's set upon his hip, his stomach muscles tightening a little when he feels the other hand start to ready him for entry. Robin's breathing is already catching, his cheeks slightly flushed, and when he looks down at Bane's face he gets redder. They've never done it this way, with Bane laying back so he can see everything—every little twitch, every reaction, every time his lips fall open to say something deplorable. He feels naked, truly, but he thinks he likes it this way. This way he can see Bane, too, watch him fall apart because of _him._

As he throws his head back, he somehow has the clarity of mind to remember when they first met, how he was so scared and obedient. Oh, how things have changed. Perhaps in the field Robin defers to Bane in most cases, but elsewhere, they are equals.

Bane's breath stutters when Robin finally goes down on him, both hands now clutching Robin's sides with vigor. He feels like a god, up above Bane like this, and he keeps his eyes trained Bane's face to absorb every reaction that he can. He watches Bane fall apart slowly, quicker when he angles his hips a certain way, and he _loves_ it. It turns him on in stupid amounts to see Bane's expression, and he comes far quicker than he normally would have. Bane's right behind him, a low rumble sounding in his throat as he lets himself go, too. For a moment Robin just sits there, his breathing still heavy and labored, but then he slowly lets himself lay down, nothing but his seed separating his chest and Bane's. They're sweaty and wet and it's all a bit unsanitary, but he can't bring himself to care—his orgasm is still buzzing in his body and he's happy, truly happy, and he won't let formality ruin that.

This time Robin doesn't go. He lies on Bane in silence for at least ten minutes, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath, and takes in Bane's smell: clean and sharp, tinged with sweat and sex and blood. He likes that.

“Why do you hate Ra's?” he finally asks, forgetting formality in favor of finally getting an answer to the question he's been pondering for so long.

“Who told you that?”

Robin meets Bane's gaze with a small sigh.

“Your eyes,” he says, “and your body language. You're so tense around him.”

Bane looks like he wants to say something, but holds back.

“It's important. I don't want to say something wrong one day and get pumped full of holes.”

Robin sits up a little to stare Bane down, asserting how serious he is about the subject—this is what he'd started this whole thing for, so to finally find out what's been going on is a big deal. The only thing that could hold him back is the thought of not actually having a reason to fuck Bane anymore, but did he really have a legitimate reason in the first place?

“So?”

Bane looks at him for a moment without speaking. At first Robin thinks he's going to blow the question off, but then he hears the breath of air through the mask and is able to relax a little.

“When I was younger, I watched over Talia very closely while Ra's was out. I protected her. He... did not approve of that, of me. So he tried to cast me out. I managed to rally enough support for myself to stay, but I'm sure he would get rid of me in an instant if he could.”

Robin frowns. That—that doesn't make sense, not _really_. If Bane were _protecting_ Talia, wouldn't Ra's be happy? He suspects there's something Bane is leaving out, but says nothing about it. This is enough information for now. There will always be more opportunities in the future.

“That's all?” he finally asks softly, his fingers tapping gently against Bane's chest.

“Yes.”

It's clear Bane doesn't want to talk about it anymore, so Robin sits up and stretches instead.

“How about round two?”

He doesn't have to ask twice.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! I noticed that this story hit 10,000 hits today so I decided to go ahead and update real quick. I've thought about it a lot and there _should_ be exactly six (short-ish) chapters left. There's still a bit yet! Thank you guys so much for sticking with this through thick and thin and for reading it in the first place. It means ridiculous amounts and without your support I never would have stuck with it. Finishing things is something I really have to work hard on, and ya'll are helping me so much with that. :') Again, thank you! I'm a bit sad that it'll be ending soon, but every great adventure must come to an end, eh? Let's hope that the ending I have planned is what you expect and deserve.

“I'm sure you've heard this already, but if not, listen closely,” Ra's says when the door to the meeting room is closed, looking around at the people gathered at the table. Robin has not, in fact, heard anything notable of late, so at Ra's words his curiosity is piqued. He shoots a glance at Talia, hoping to find out a little bit of what's to come, but she just shakes her head and gestures to Ra's with a tip of her head.

“We are on the cusp of settling one of the biggest feuds in our history,” he continues, and at that Robin's eyebrows shoot straight up. He certainly has _not_ heard about this before.

“Next Thursday we'll be meeting up with Scarecrow, Two-Face, and the Joker at the old courthouse.”

 _Two-Face, Two-Face,_ Robin thinks, already having gotten over the surprise of learning that the Joker's gotten out of jail. It shouldn't be even remotely surprising, actually. Like many other things, the strict procedure of law enables smart, wicked, chaos-driven men like the Joker to manipulate the system easily. To get out is mostly a matter of being a little lucky and a lot clever.

Suddenly Two-Face's image slams into his mind's eye. _Of course._ Robin had heard about him once, when he was younger and far less experienced. A terrifying and formidable man; half his face is burned off and his temper smolders as hotly as the fire that marred his skin. Well, so he's heard, anyway.

The prospect of meeting him makes Robin nervous. Perhaps it's ridiculous, after all he's been through, but he can't help it. He still feels that thrill of fear and anticipation every time he's sent on a new assignment. In a way, it keeps the whole thing fresh.

“I myself will be attending this meeting. It is our intention to decide officially upon the boundaries of our territories, as we have all found ourselves to be stepping on eachothers' toes as of late, and we don't want to suffer any... unwanted casualties.” Ra's eyes cloud over for a moment, and Robin wonders which unwanted casualties are occupying his mind at the moment. “A few of you will be assigned to hold down the fort here, but the majority of you will accompany me. The time is to be announced at the feast on Friday, so it's wise that you attend. Please inform the men in your respective companies of these plans and their impact upon us.”

He looks around, as if looking for comprehension from everyone in the room, and finishes with “You may go.”

As everyone leaves, Robin lingers, more out of thoughtfulness than anything. He's caught up in his own thoughts about his future and the future of Ra's racket, but Ra's seems to interpret this as needing confirmation or acknowledgment.

“You will be there, right, Robin?” he asks. The name sounds so natural coming from him, a stark contrast to Robin's earlier views on the matter. 

“I wouldn't dream of doing otherwise,” Robin replies, and he absolutely means it.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! It's been a while since I was able to do a double update. Enjoy :')

The next few days consist mostly of Robin's stomach flipping and flopping and various stages in between those actions. He can feel the meeting looming in the air around him like a plague, infecting his thoughts, its weight heavy on his brain, and eventually he finds himself snagging time with Bane whenever he can get it to keep himself occupied.

Bane doesn't seem to mind. They're comfortable with it, now, having fallen into a routine, and intimacy comes naturally. They don't really have to think about being together, it just _happens;_ Robin would be lying if he said he minded.

They're lazing about in Robin's apartment the Monday before the meeting—Bane had just gotten out of a conference with Ra's and, aggravated by the presence of the man he hated, had sought impromptu refuge with Robin—when it happens. They're sitting on the floor with their backs pressed together, Robin's head cocked slightly as he listens to what Bane has to say about Ra's, and there's this lull between them, pleasant and lengthy, and Robin's mouth falls open a little and he says:

“I want to kiss you.”

He doesn't know where it comes from and regrets it immediately after it leaves his lips. There's something almost taboo about it, kissing; for while they've fucked six ways from Sunday, Bane's mask prevents their lips from ever making contact, which makes a gesture that others find common very sacred. His declaration isn't really about the actual meeting of their lips, not really—this dawns on Robin well after the fact, as it is no doubt dawning on Bane, too.

Robin's stomach does acrobatics for the umpteeth time. Wow, that's getting old.

“Can you take it off?” he asks of the mask, filling the silence because Bane won't. He's not sure what Bane's refrain means and he doesn't think he wants to know.

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

Bane pauses.

“Sometimes.”

Bane's hand is near his so he finds it, his fingers tracing lightly along the fingernails. Existing, he finds, is so easy these days. Even with his nervousness, he feels mellow; even as he bares a little bit of his heart to the man he used to fear most in this world, it doesn't feel the way it would have before all of this.

He thinks he's changed for the better.

“I want to kiss you,” he says again, thoughtfully, the words backed by something he can't quite name.

“In a perfect world...” Bane starts, trailing off. He never finishes, but they both know what he means anyway.


	26. Chapter 26

It's Wednesday, the night before the big event. Robin had been nervous all day so he'd wanted to spend the day with Bane, but the man had been nowhere to be found. It's not until dinnertime when Robin gets a knock on his door, opening it to find an exhausted Bane on the other side. Exhausted as he is, however, it doesn't stop him from disrobing Robin within minutes of his arrival, pressing him against the wall and palming the erection he knows is there, if somewhat delayed by his surprise.

“Rough day?” Robin asks between breaths, still a little surprised but not particularly bothered. Bane probably has something on his mind and, in classic Bane style, doesn't want to talk about it, so he keeps Robin too busy to talk. It's funny: it's happening, Robin knows it's happening, he knows he shouldn't be _letting_ it happen, but he's too distracted by its happening to stop it from happening anyway.

As predicted, Bane doesn't respond, only pulls Robin's pants off roughly, his fingers trailing along the sensitive skin below his belly button. It feels heavenly but there's something very, very off about it, so Robin forces himself to stop responding so seamlessly and look Bane in the eye.

“Hey.”

Bane's gaze is challenging, some of the hardness returned from before they were so comfortable with eachother, when Robin felt afraid for his life most of the time.

“Just—just sit down for a minute, okay?” It's weird, talking Bane down like this, and for a moment he thinks it won't have any effect. Bane does back down, though, and sits on the couch, his eyes trained on Robin as if testing him.

 _What can you possibly do?_ they say, and Robin can't help but wonder that himself. He sheds the rest of his clothing slowly to buy himself time, feeling bare when he finally stands naked before the man he's come to be so peculiarly close to. He walks forward with unsteady steps and, looking Bane in the eye, kneels and traces his fingers along Bane's knees when he's close enough, fingers snaking up to pry at his belt buckle and prompt the removal of his pants and boxers. A small smile curls his lips when he sees how hard Bane is already.

Rising again, Robin slides up onto the couch and straddles Bane, guiding Bane's hand to his ass to help prepare him. It's quick, but intimate: though Robin wastes little time on loosening himself up, his position on the couch forces him to press his chest into Bane's, which is now bare after a hasty removal of the vest he'd been wearing. Bane's free hand is tracing patterns into his neck and it makes him wonder what it would be like to have lips there instead, touching, caressing, and he wishes he could find out.

Prompting Bane to remove his fingers with a touch to the wrist, Robin takes a breath and sinks down. They've been going at it with ridiculous frequency lately, but that doesn't make the sensation any less invasive. It takes Robin a moment to settle into it, to find a rhythm, and then he's moving—up, down, up, down, breathe. Bane's giving him this look caught halfway between tender and surprised and Robin wonders if anybody has loved him before, like this.

The thought of loving Bane is one that comes somewhat easily. It's an idea he knows he should be scared of and should berate himself for, but all he can think about is the sweat and breath between them, the moments in the heat of a fight when their gazes connect, and the way Bane's looking at him now, and he's _okay_ with this, this thing they have, and he suspects he wouldn't be fussed if it lasted forever. So he kisses Bane's neck as they move, and he clutches his torso, and in his ear he says:

“We're in this together, you know.”

Bane looks at him, perplexed. He wants to explain but it's a bit difficult because the warmth in his abdomen is really mounting now, gathering low in his belly and making it difficult to think straight. One of Bane's hands has moved to stroke him, quick and rough, eliciting a ragged gasp from his lips instead of the words he'd intended to speak. Bane jerks once, twice, and he's gone, riding out his orgasm in waves and digging his nails into Bane's shoulder. Bane goes next, quickly and efficiently, throwing his head back against the cushions.

“I mean,” Robin finally says when he can breathe more normally, still seated across Bane, “that you can _tell_ me, you know. When something's wrong.”

Bane studies him for a long time, the silence his own form of speaking. Robin thinks it will last forever until he hears the breath of air through Bane's mask, a subtle cue he's memorized over their time together.

“I burned down an orphanage today.”

The words hit him like a freight train. It's not until his lungs are crying out for air does he realize that he's stopped breathing in his shock; he says nothing, _can_ say nothing, and in Bane's eyes burns the truth: _You weren't ready._

“Did you,” he says after a moment, his voice hoarse, “did you evacuate it first?”

Pause.

“No.”

He feels sick to his stomach as he slides off of Bane to stand, feeling numb. It's all he can do to keep his expression placid, not wanting to give his feelings away to the man on his couch.

“Look—I, uh, have some paperwork to do.”

“Then I will go.”

Bane does.

It's a long time before Robin feels anything again, and he finds that what he does feel is rage—hot, white-burning _rage,_ and an overwhelming sort of disgust that consumes his mind with its stench.

 _What a fool I've been,_ he thinks as he steps into the shower, aching to scrub away Bane's touch from his skin, _to think that I could do this._ He's not sure which he's angrier about, the fact that Bane is heartless or that he'd already known long before today. Some part of him tries to rationalize, to remind himself that Bane had, in fact, been out of sorts about it, but all he can think about is how he doesn't belong with the criminals, how he never truly did, how innocent _children_ were murdered; he's a cop, through and through, and he just can't keep pretending that he could actually live such a double life forever.

It is then that his eyes alight on the cell phone that lies discarded on his coffee table. As he stares at it, tracing its contours with his gaze, he can feel his stomach flip-flop nervously. Blinded by rage and alienation and betrayal, he makes a decision.

He knows what he has to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christ. It's been more than a _month_ since I updated this. I'm so, so sorry guys. Uh as you might've gotten an inkling of, school's really kicked my ass so I haven't really had much time to write. I also found out recently that my mom's boyfriend may have cancer and we're kind of waiting around in stress limbo here trying to figure out if it is cancer, so shit's just been all over the place for me. I'm also going to be promoted to black belt in karate in a few weeks, so you know. Life's busy and kinda difficult at the moment!
> 
> I absolutely swear that I have not forgotten about you guys or this story, nor do I intend to. No matter what hardships I face, I still want to complete my journey with you. I hope you can forgive me for my inconsistency and finish the trip, even with its bumps. :')
> 
> Since I'm not sure when I'll be able to update again, feel free to find me on tumblr (joetokki.tumblr.com). I'm always around there, so if you just wanna see what's going on or whatever, you can! I'm always happy to talk about whatever, so don't feel afraid to message me, alright?
> 
> Anyway, yes! Merrily we go. Hopefully I can finish this story very, very soon.
> 
> OH! PS! Yes, I changed my username. I was a_whisper, but I'm often blakesreckoning on tumblr so I wanted a bit more continuity, I suppose. Hope it doesn't bug ya'll too much :'P


	27. Chapter 27

The words taste sour in his mouth.

“Tomorrow,” he confirms, swallowing to try and counteract the dryness in his throat. It doesn't work. “At seven.”

“Tomorrow? That's so soon. How long have you known about this?”

“About a week, but I had to be sure. I didn't want you to walk into something I knew nothing about.” He pauses, trying to push away the overwhelming guilt he feels in the pit of his stomach. “Commissioner Gordon, if this succeeds, you could annihilate the drug racket here in Gotham for years, if not decades. They'll all be there—Two-Face, Scarecrow, Joker, Ra's al Ghul... but they won't go down without a fight. You're going to have to bring everything you have for this.”

“We'll be there.” Gordon is quiet for a moment, considering. “Thank you, Robin. For everything. I'm sure this job has been hard on you, but you've done your city proud. After tomorrow Gotham will be a better place and it's all because of you.”

 _It's all because of you._ He imagines looking down on Bane's and Talia's bodies, victims of his betrayal. It's too late to stop it now—he's picked his side, a choice that was long overdue. He must stick to his guns now, finish out his sojourn with the criminal underworld, and get his life back. He can finally be John Blake again, can bury the past he'd unearthed so painfully.

“Thank you, Commissioner,” he finally says, but his heart's not in it.


	28. Chapter 28

He doesn't see Bane that morning. Instead he spends his time with Talia, though they don't talk much. Something seems to be bothering her, for her lips are pressed tightly together and her shoulders are raised slightly, at once irritated and defensive. She only starts to talk when she's had a glass of wine and they're sitting together comfortably on a divan deep within Ra's part of the headquarters, her fingers tightening around the glass minutely when she parts her lips.

“Do you know the story behind Bane's mask?” she asks, her voice lacking its usual confidence.

He hesitates.

“I've heard a thing or two.”

She laughs, a sharp, rakish sound.

“Forget those things, for they are lies. I'm going to tell you the true story behind it—a story only Bane, Ra's, and I know, because...” She trails off, as if she's not sure that she should continue speaking. “Because you need to know; because someone else should hear it. I think Bane wants you to know, but he'd never tell you himself. He trusts you, and I do too.”

Her words are like a stab to the gut, wrenching at his guilt savagely. He swallows hard.

“He was my guardian when we were children. Ra's, he... he had many responsibilities when I was small, and thus he was gone all the time. He put me in an orphanage and bribed its staff not to let me get adopted. He said it was too dangerous for others to know that I was his child until he could be around to protect me. Bane, well, he was an orphan there, just a few years older than I. We took a liking to eachother, and though I'd always said I didn't need protecting, he looked after me anyway.

“Ra's didn't like him. I suppose it was our closeness—he always thought there was more going on that what we showed him. Yes, I came to love Bane very, very much, to trust him with my life, but never in the way that Ra's suggested.

“That was when it all changed. Someone—I don't remember who, it was so long ago—got word of my existence and tried to kill me by setting the orphanage on fire. I would have died had it not been for Bane. He rescued me, but it was at a terrible cost: he'd inhaled too much smoke and we couldn't go to a regular doctor due to our ties to criminal organizations, and thus Ra's doctor had to improvise. He constructed the mask that is now the only thing between life and death for Bane. Without it he can't breathe. His lungs are so raw and damaged that unfiltered air is excruciating to him.”

She takes a breath, now, her gaze somewhere far away. Robin's heartbeat throbs loudly in his head as he processes the information he's just been given.

“My father still wanted him gone, you know. He was only saved by popular support within the racket. He came home from his overseas business because he could no longer leave me alone, but he allowed Bane to stay after much begging and pleading. He never truly accepted him, though, and this—this most recent act was just one last stunt by my father to show Bane that he owns him.” Her laugh is broken. “Typical.”

It takes Robin longer than it should for him to form his next words.

“What stunt?”

“Didn't you hear? Ra's made him burn down the orphange. It was the same one, actually, the one I'd stayed in as a child. I suppose he knew how it would affect Bane.. my father wanted to break him, I think. He always has. Bane has never been as submissive as he'd like, but my love and his brilliance make him impossible to replace. My father tries, though, to break him. He's tried it many times before. This time I fear he may have been successful.”

She stands now, grabbing Robin's hand to make him stand too.

“Walk me to my car?”

“Break him?” Robin asks in response, following her.

“Bane is—” She takes a deep breath, clearly uncomfortable with whatever she is she's got to say. “Ra's has pushed him over the edge... since it happened yesterday he hasn't stopped talking about justice and he says he will obtain it himself if he has to.”

She stops walking suddenly, looking him in the eye.

“He wants to depose my father. Tonight, at the meeting.”

Robin's eyes widen. Thoughts and images bounce around his head, but there's one in particular he can't shake, one of Talia, desperate and shaky, preparing to tell him the story: _“because you need to know; because someone else should hear it.”_

He understands now. She's trusting him with it because after tonight, everything will change. She might not survive if Ra's and Bane resort to violence. They themselves might die in the carnage. He needs to know so that there is someone in the world who knows the truth—the full, whole truth, all of it, not the lies Bane has spun about himself, not the mutated gossip everyone has come to accept as fact. It is in that moment when he realizes how important these people have become to him; they are, in a way, his _family_ , and like any family they have their secrets—secrets which he now knows.

As he walks Talia through the building toward her car, he can practically see the wallpaper around him curling, the walls crumbling; he can smell the acrid stench of smoke permeating the air as the life he could have had burns around him. Somewhere in the distance the laughter of Commissioner Gordon rings through the air, reminding him of the weight of his betrayal, and all he can think is _Oh, God, what have I done?_

It's all over.

“Which side will you take?” he finally asks when they're outside, stopping Talia with a light touch to the arm.

She looks at him, her gaze heavy with the tears of frustration she won't allow herself to shed.

“I don't know. I'll—I'll see you later, alright? Maybe later things will have calmed down,” she says, her forced hope impressively genuine-sounding, and kisses him on the cheek. As he's walking away, however, her voice stops him.

“He loves you, Robin,” she says, prompting him to turn around.

She looks at him expectantly, clearly waiting for him to say something. He doesn't, though, so she speaks again.

“He does. You should go to him. Keep him company. Today is no doubt a hard day for him, and who knows how much time you may have left together?”

Robin looks uneasily back to the building behind him, knowing that much paperwork waits for him there.

“Go,” she says again, tone imploring.

So he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, you guys are way too kind to me. Thank you so much for sticking with it even after a month without updates!
> 
> P.S: I hope the AUness of the explanation Talia did isn't too large a pill to swallow, lol. Bear with me! With any luck I'll finish this story tomorrow or Tuesday :')


	29. Chapter 29

Bane, as it turns out, had been working out when Robin goes to him. His chest is heaving, his head shiny with sweat, his skin flushed. When Robin finally sees him, he feels not remorse or guilt or disgust, like he'd thought he would, but pure and all-consuming _relief._ The knowledge that he hadn't wanted to do as Ra's asked, that he was going to fight back, restored his humanity. Robin understood that now, understood all of it. With the knowledge he'd just gained, he felt he knew Bane better as a person, and that closeness was suddenly vital to his life again.

That didn't mean he hadn't betrayed Bane and Ra's and everyone in their racket, but that was a different story.

Despite Bane's sweat-drenched skin Robin falls upon him immediately, pulling him forward to kiss his cheeks, his forehead, his eyelids. Bane presses him against the doorframe at first, then hefts him up carefully with one arm, carrying him to the kitchen and setting him on the counter. A rather impromptu handjob from Bane ensues, all sweat and breath and a previously unseen desperation, and then Robin's down on his knees on the floor, pressing Bane against the wall to give him his own release. It's sloppy and it's foreign and it's a little bit ridiculous but neither of them can manage to _care,_ and for a moment Robin forgets that everything is about to fall apart.

When they're done, Robin lets himself lean against the wall and slides down, seating himself on the floor. Bane hesitates for a moment before doing the same, his breathing slowly becoming even beside Robin. They sit there like that for a long time, doing nothing in particular, yet there's something infinitely more intimate than sharing an orgasm that transpires between them, something Robin thinks he likes, knows he'll miss.

“Don't—don't get yourself killed,” he finally says, memorizing the feeling of Bane's warmth at his side.

Bane looks at him for a long, quiet moment.

“I won't,” he replies, his voice steady and strong.

And hell, Robin almost believes him.


	30. Chapter 30

They arrive at the old courthouse together, making themselves presentable before they go. Ra’s stands outside the entrance with at least four hundred of his men, his expression grim. Robin’s puzzled when he doesn’t see Talia immediately but he eventually locates her in the shadows near the building, a cigarette in hand. Casting a glance back to Bane, he heads toward her while Bane goes to Ra’s. He knows he should probably follow, but he’s never seen Talia quite so disgruntled before and he can’t help but worry.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen in there,” she says, taking a deep drag of the cigarette. Robin’s never seen her smoke before and he finds himself thrown off by it.

They stand there in silence for a moment, looking at Bane as he converses with Ra’s. The restraint in Bane’s movements is plain to see, even from their vantage point, and Robin wonders if Ra’s notices it too.

“I’m going to side with Bane.” Robin looks at Talia, surprised. Her loyalty to her father has always been strong, stronger than anyone else’s, so for that to be shaken she must be very upset with him.

“I love my father very, very much, and I will always believe in his vision, but he… he has become spiteful and cruel as of late, and I fear his ambition will become lost in his preoccupation with Bane,” she continues, her expression troubled and Robin suspects that she’s ended her argument early.

“But that’s not all, is it?” he asks, prompting her to continue.

She looks away from Ra’s and Bane, meeting his eyes.

“I—I’m hoping that if the situation seems to be nearing violence, my presence at Bane’s side will dissuade Ra’s from fighting.”

Robin tries to swallow the lump in his throat and fails. So  _that’s_ what this is about. Talia thinks a fight will break out. He thinks guiltily of Gordon, who is no doubt rallying his forces as they speak. If she already thinks there will be violence, well, she doesn’t know the half of it.

“It’ll all work out in the end,” he says, though he wants more than anything to warn her of what’s coming, to encourage her to flee. Then, after placing his hand on Talia’s back reassuringly, heads back toward the main group, where Bane is now talking one of his men.

“What’s the plan?” he asks when Bane’s conversation draws to a close, searching his eyes for any lingering anger or animosity toward Ra’s. He sees none and finds that decidedly admirable.

“We’re going to head inside soon. Scarecrow, the Joker, and Two-Face and their men have already arrived. Once the men we sent in are finished scanning for booby traps we’ll go in and get settled.”

Robin feels his heart jump in his throat with nerves.

“Are you nervous?” he eventually asks. He knows it’s a ridiculous question, considering he’s speaking to  _Bane,_ of all people, but he can’t help but ask.

“No,” Bane replies, unsurprisingly, “I’m eager.”

By this Robin is reminded again of how different they are, but this time he doesn’t resent it. Instead he appreciates it, savors it, finds himself desperately wishing he hadn’t screwed everything up just yesterday.

_Don’t be so pessimistic,_ he thinks, but it’s hard not to. Robin knows Gotham’s police force and its size—for anyone to survive the debacle would take a miracle. Of course, it all depends on how hard they resist capture, but if he knows anything about Bane and Ra’s and the men they command, it’s that they won’t back down. The fight on the horizon is one that will be to the death.

“It’s time.” Bane’s voice shakes him from his thoughts, makes him look up toward the man standing at the door to the courthouse and signaling to Ra’s. In an organized mob they make their way toward the doors, filing in quietly. Robin can feel the tension in the air and tries to quell his own rising panic.

The entrance hall is large with a high ceiling, the walls rising around them imposingly. Ahead a great door, thrown open to let them in, stands, a deep mahogany in color, numerous grooves cut into its surface from fights past.

Robin wonders if the door will survive the night.

Entering the next room, he finds it has been divided into quadrants of desks and chairs: to the left sits Two-Face and his men; to the right, the Joker and company; and directly in front of them, Dr. Crane in his Scarecrow attire with his own group. As Ra’s enters Scarecrow rises and walks toward the middle of the room to meet him, though Joker and Two-Face make no such moves.

“Thank you for coming,” Scarecrow says, shaking Ra’s hand with a barely restrained hostility that makes Robin chuckle. He finds a place beside Bane and Talia, finding strength in their nearness. Surely such powerful people can survive the events to come…

“May we begin?”

“Please do.” Ra’s nods, then finds a seat in the large armchair beside a desk as polished yet battle-worn as the door. The men around him shift as if to get comfortable, but their nervousness is tangible. Robin doesn’t blame them for it.

“Two-Face, if you will.”

Two-Face rises, his fearsome gaze sweeping over the crowd and landing on Scarecrow as he returns to his seat.

“I took the liberty of having a projector installed on the ceiling on Monday,” Two-Face says, his voice raspy. Then, wielding a small remote, he turns it on and waits a moment as it warms up, nodding in satisfaction when a giant map appears on the floor between the four factions.

“This is Gotham, of course, and here are our current divisions.” As he speaks, Two-Face presses a button on the remote to reveal a second map, this one lined with different colors. Judging from the positioning, the green is the Joker’s territory, the red Two-Face’s, the yellow Scarecrow’s, and the blue Ra’s. The lines form borders along certain parts of the city, but a problem is evident: in places the borders cross, or there are random blocks of blue or green in a red- or yellow-lined territory. The origin of the conflict is clear.

“Our goal is to create an evenly-distributed city division without overlap,” Scarecrow says from his seat, gesturing to the map.

“So you expect us to agree to give up pieces of our territory, what, out of the goodness of our hearts?” Joker says, the first words he’s spoken since Ra’s company arrived.

“No,” Scarecrow replies sharply, “I expect you to do it out of an interest in self-preservation.”

Ra’s, wisely, says nothing. The Joker, however, seems to have another agenda.

“Ah, so it’s out of fear that we’ll obey. Pray tell, where will that interest come from? You know I’m not big on strategy. Seems to me that you’ve got nothing to hold over our heads but fear of a damn projector falling out of the sky.”

Two-Face stands, clearly agitated. “Now you—”

Suddenly the room erupts into a cacophony of voices, every side voicing its own opinion on the matter. It seems uncontrollable until Bane rises, his loud _“Silence!”_ shushing the crowd.

He steps out into the center slowly, taking his time to survey the men around him. Talia looks at Robin, her brows drawn together, and Robin knows what’s coming, he can feel it in his bones:  _change._

“There is much more to fear than any of you realize,” he says, facing the Joker, then Scarecrow. Ra’s seems confused by this development, but says nothing.

“Perhaps you have grown soft during your rule, but once, you very well the terror of which I speak. It is all around you, the thing you should be afraid of, permeating every day, every moment of your lives.” His gaze sweeps around, taking his body with it, and lands on Ra’s.

“It is the majority.”

He lets this sink in for a moment, drinking in the stunned silence. A low hum of whispers develops within the crowd, but it fades away when Bane speaks again.

“You must respect the men beneath you,” he continues, gaze traveling back around to the Joker, “because if you do not, they will not respect you.” He turns again to Scarecrow, the lines of his back strong and defiant beneath the projector’s light. “They will not follow you.” Again he looks at Two-Face. “They will not bow down to you.”

This time he turns again, but the movement is much more deliberate, less natural; locking eyes with Ra’s, he speaks:

“They will not obey you.”

It is then that the keen knife of realization hits Ra’s, courses through his body like lightning, forces him up onto his feet.

“You’ve gone too far, Ra’s, and for your cruelty we cannot forgive you. We’re taking our lives back and reorganizing them under a more just system, one run not by personal ambition or anger, but by what is best for the collective. Do you understand?”

Ra’s stands there for a moment, motionless, before he turns. Robin watches as his eyes scan from one face to the next, cringes when those eyes meet his own; sympathy flares up in him for Talia, who is wavering under his gaze. For a moment Robin thinks she will lose her resolve, but she says nothing, only stares back at him.

For all his power, his immortality, the reality is this: Ra’s is defeated.

Seeing this, Bane turns back to the other leaders in the room.

“You should not fear the actions of your enemies, brethren,” he says by way of closing, “but the actions of your own!”

Around Robin rises a loud, savage cry, one of victory and joy. He feels the beginnings of happiness flare up in his chest, too, until he hears it.

A thumping sound.

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump._

The sound falls quiet for a moment, but then the silence is replaced by an Earth-shattering splintering noise.

“ _Police! Nobody move!”_

The world around him erupts into chaos.

Police stream in from three entrances—the large door they’d entered from and two side doors—and try to surround the criminals, but the men react to fast, and before Robin can blink bullets are flying.

Bane still stands in the middle of the room, though his gun is now in hand. Robin feels his stomach lurch and all he can think is  _Oh God, oh God, get down before you get shot!_  Vaulting over Ra’s desk, which is now splattered with someone’s blood, he makes a mad dash for the center of the room, dodging friend and foe alike.

“Blake! Officer Blake!”

Robin stops cold.

Turning slowly, he sees Commissioner Gordon standing at the front of the room, still calling his name.

_No._

It’s as if the world is running in slow motion. One second he’s staring gape-mouthed as Gordon destroys the fragile life he built for himself, the next his gun is raised. With one pull of the trigger, Gordon’s life is draining from a hole in his head, gone in seconds. His name has stopped being called, but the damage is done. As he turns back to Bane, he sees it there in his eyes: betrayal.

_Officer Blake,_ those eyes scream, the shocked look on what little of his face Robin can see revealing everything, and as the bullets fly around him, he knows he’s too late.

_He knows._

An explosion sounds from his right, clearly the Joker’s fault, and throws him off, but he quickly rights himself and finds Bane’s eyes again, trying to find some way to apologize, to make things right—

“ _Aim for the mask!”_

The scream has barely left his lips by the time they’re shooting, first one, then two, then three bullets connection with the mask, sending it flying. Bane manages to remain standing for about two seconds before he topples to the ground, flat on his back, gasping and broken and vulnerable.

Robin looks at the carnage around him, taking it in through eyes burning from the smoke in the air, his breathing labored. Scarecrow wears his mask as he spreads a fine white powder over any cop who comes near, sending them screaming to the ground; the Joker holds his corner valiantly—if such a word can be used in reference to him—with various explosives and the occasional gunshot; Two-Face fights tooth and nail, sometimes with his fists, sometimes with a gun, felling cops left and right. Ra’s is nowhere to be seen.

As the men around him fall, he sees in his periphery several cops creeping toward the center where Bane lies, still unsure of Blake’s allegiance.

Now’s his chance.

Raising his gun again, he shoots one, then two, taking advantage of their confusion to take out as many at once as possible. He gets to five before the first shot hits him, digging into his gut savagely, the second embedding itself in his side and bringing him to his knees.

“Fuck you!” he yells raggedly, pulling a grenade from his belt and sending it off toward the largest group of them. Then, shooting two others, he finds himself temporarily safe among the writhing bodies.

Crawling over to Bane, he drags himself on top of the man and brushes aside the mask’s debris around his mouth, his fingers feeling his lips tentatively. The betrayal is still evident in his eyes, but it’s clouded by pain now, the all-consuming pain that comes with breathing unfiltered air.

“I’m sorry,” Robin says, leaning down and feeling the blood from his wounds gush all over Bane’s stomach. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He hesitates for a moment, then presses a kiss to Bane’s lips.

It’s not much of a kiss, really, because Bane’s mostly concentrated on gasping for air, but Robin sees some recognition there, which prompts him to do it again.

“I’m so sorry,” he says again, pressing kiss after kiss on the man’s mouth, ignoring the steady numbness developing in his body as more and more blood pours from the holes in his stomach and side. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry.”

Leaning to the side, he coughs up blood onto the floor and finds when he returns to his previous position that he can’t quite hold himself up all the way. So he lets himself slide down closer, pressing his lips to Bane’s more times than he can count, though his blood is dripping into Bane’s mouth and he’s pretty sure he can’t feel his legs and everything is getting blurry.

“I love you,” he says again, realizing how true it is, and as that thought hits him the tears that have been slowly welling up spill over his eyelids. Bane’s gasping has stopped somewhat, giving way to some clouded half-consciousness, and Robin desperately wants to believe that the spark in Bane’s eyes is forgiveness. “It was—look, I know how this looks, but… it was real. All of it. It wasn’t at first, but I—I gave up so long ago, and I just wanted to be with you, with  _all_ of you, and I’m just so sorry, and I wish I could undo this, I wish you could live, I wish we could be happy, I wish that I’d never been on the force and that I’d met you earlier and that I could take down your enemies with you for the rest of my life, and—”

He chokes a little as more blood burbles up in his throat, prompting him to lean over and spit it out again. The puddle around him is growing steadily, deep and dark and sticky, and he knows this is the end.

“You got your mask off,” he says quietly, kissing the barely-breathing Bane again. “Was it worth it?”

He’d laugh if he had the strength.

Looking down at the man he loves, he finds the inevitable waiting for him: those telltale lightless eyes, the limpness in his mouth.

Bane is dead.

He does laugh this time, broken and ragged, and tries to sit up again, to look around him at what he’s done.

All around him the fighting continues, the body count increasing every second. It’s enough to give a man nightmares for the rest of his life, but Robin doesn’t think he’ll have the chance to sleep ever again.

Then, finally looking forward, he sees her.

Talia stands resolute, hair undone and matted with blood, her eyes wide and her mouth twisted downward in horror. Her gaze, always strong and clever, is fixed dumbly on Bane and Robin, her eyes meeting his when he looks toward her.

She raises her gun, then hesitates, unsure of whether or not to shoot the traitor.

Robin swallows, trying to muster up the energy to speak, wishing the tears weren’t blocking his eyesight so thoroughly.

“Shoot me,” he finally whispers, his head lolling to the side a little with the effort of it.

“ _Shoot me.”_

She raises her arm again, but her finger still does not apply pressure to the trigger, only rests there, still uncertain.

“ _Please.”_

This time, she does.

Her aim is off in her panic, it seems, because she hits him in the gut next to the other bullet, not the head as he’d hoped. It sends him lurching forward and to the side a little, causing him to slide away from Bane.

His manages to move his head to the side to look up at the ceiling of the courthouse, ignoring the puddle of his own blood steadily seeping into his clothes, his hair, anywhere it can reach. The light from the projector that still shines is a blinding pinprick above him. He wonders what part of Gotham is outlined on his body—the library, perhaps? The park?

Turning his head back to face Bane with the rest of his strength, he lets his eyes scan over the man’s face one last time. His hand creeps over jerkily to touch Bane’s arm, recalling the memory of his warmth from just a few hours earlier.

He wonders, if he hadn’t messed it all up, if they could have been happy.

_Perhaps in another life,_ he thinks, and with one last, stuttery breath, he lets his eyelids droop shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three months after I started this fic, I'm finishing it. It feels kind of wonderful, but kind of melancholy. You know, the whole fic was actually made specifically for the ending scene. I wanted Blake to be able to kiss Bane, and I just had this vision of Blake sitting atop him, kissing furiously as he's dying... and there it is. It feels almost unreal now that it's there, actually _there,_ not just floating around in my head like so many of my other impulsive ideas. Thank you all so, so much for sticking this through with me and putting up with my nonsense. I hope the ride was as great for you as it was for me.
> 
> Like I said a few chapters back, if you want to get in touch with me, tumblr is the best way. I post about my current projects there, and as a general rule I answer messages in a pretty timely fashion. If tumblr isn't your thing, however, here's some project info for you:
> 
> Besides Die as Saints, which I'll be working on, I've got a TDKR Western Bane/Blake AU and a lot of Inception fics lined up at the moment, including one set in Vegas and an AU about kickboxing. Here's the big thing though: I've decided that, for NaNoWriMo, I'm going to work on a fanficiton. Dust is actually my longest completed work so far and I find that I always stop at 15k on original works, so I'm trying to do a 50k fanfic to beef up my story length-writing skills. The fic in question will be an Inception fic that includes Mysterious Skin, Lawless, TDKR, and Looper, so if you're interested in more TDKR works, that may be of interest. I might not be very active on AO3 during November, though, due to writing the fic, so please bear with me!
> 
> Anyway, like I said, thank you _so_ much for the support. You all mean the world to me and I look forward to putting out more writing for you in the future :')


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